^-■C^C 


"WHITE   WINGS 


3.  SJacljUug  llomance 


By    WILLIAM    BLACK 

AUTHOR   OF   "A   PRINCESS   OF   THULE  "    "THE   STRANGE   ADTENTURES  OP   A  PHAETON" 
"MACLEOD   OF   DARE"    "A   DAUGHTER   OF   HETH  "    "  JIADCAP   VIOLET" 


ILLUSTRATED    BY   W.  SMALL 


NEW    YORK 
HAKPER   &   BROTHERS,  FRANKLIN   SQUARE 

1880 


WILLIAM  BLACK'S   NOVELS. 


LIBRARY  EDITION. 


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Published  by  IIAIIPER  k  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

ty  Any  of  the  above  volume*  will  be  atnt  by  maily  postage  prepaidj  to  any  part  of  the   United  States,  an 
recfi/t  of  the  price. 


CONTENTS. 


OUAPTER  PAGE 

I.  ON  THE  QUAY 5 

II.  MARY  AVON 9 

ni.  UNDER  WAY 15 

IV.  A  MESSAGE 22 

V.  A  BRAVE  CAREER 29 

VI.   "brose" 36 

^^I.   NORTHWARD 45 

VIII.   PLOTS   AND   COUNTERPLOTS 53 

IX.   A  AVILD   STUDIO 61 

X.  "dutjvegan! — oh!  dunvegan  !" 69 

XI.  DRAWING  NEARER 78 

XIL   THE  OLD  SCHOOL  AND  THE    NEW 86 

XIII.  FERDINAND  AND  MIRANDA 94 

XIV.  EVIL  TIDINGS 101 

XV.  TEMPTATION 109 

XVI.   THROUGH  THE  DARK 116 

XVIL   \aLLANY  ABROAD 125 

XVIII.   AN  ULTIMATION 133 

XIX.   THE   NEW   SUITOR 141 

XX.   CHASING  A  THUNDER-STORM 148 

XXL   CHASING   SEALS 156 

XXII.   "  UNCERTAIN,  COY,  AND   HARD  TO   PLEASE" 164 

XXIII.  SECRET  SCHEMES 172 

XXIV.  BEFORE   BREAKFAST 179 

XXV.  A  PROTECTOR 187 

XXVI.   "MARY!   MARY  !" 194 

XXVIL  AN  UNSPOKEN  APPEAL 202 

XXVIII.  HIS  LORDSHIP 211 

XXIX.   THE   laird's  PLANS 217 

XXX.   A  SUNDAY  IN  FAR   SOLITUDES 224 

XXXI.   HIDDEN   SPRINGS 231 

XXXII.   A  CONFESSION 239 

XXXllI.   ONLY  A   HEADACHE 247 


IV  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAOE 

XXXIV.   IN  THE  DARK 255 

XXXV.   TO  ABSENT  FRIENDS 262 

xxx^^.  SUSPICIONS 271 

XXXVII.   CERTAINTY 278 

XXXVIII.    A   PARABLE 286 

XXXIX.   A  RELEASE 293 

XL.   "while  the  RIPPLES  FOLD   UPON   SANDS  OF  GOLD" 299 

XLI.  BACKWARD  THOUGHTS 305 

XLII.   SAILING  NORTHWARD 312 

XLUI.  IN  FAIRY-LAND 319 

XLiv.  "ye  are  welcome,  GLENOGIE " 325 

XLV.  THE  EQUINOCTIALS  AT  LAST.  334 

XLVi.  "flieh!  auf!  hinaus!" , 340 

XX\ai.  AFTER  THE   GALE 344 

XL\aiI.   "a  good  ONE  FOR  THE  LAST" 352 

XLix.  adieu! 359 


AVHEITE    ^WT1S[GS 

A  Yachting  Romance. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ON     THE     QUAY. 


A  MURMUR  rntis  tlarougli  the  crowd ;  the  various  idlers  grow 
alert ;  all  eyes  are  suddenly  turned  to  the  south.  And  there,  far 
away,  over  the  green  headland,  a  small  tuft  of  brown  smoke 
appears,  rising  into  the  golden  glow  of  the  afternoon,  and  we 
know  that  by -and -by  we  shall  see  the  great  steamer  with  her 
scarlet  funnels  come  sailing  round  the  point.  The  Laird  of 
Denny-mains  assumes  an  air  of  still  further  importance ;  he  pulls 
his  frock-coat  tight  at  the  waist ;  he  adjusts  his  black  satin  neck- 
tie ;  his  tall,  white,  stiff  collar  seems  more  rigid  and  white  than 
ever.  He  has  heard  of  the  wonderful  stranger ;  and  he  knows 
that  now  she  is  drawing  near. 

Heard  of  her  ?  He  has  heard  of  nothing  else  since  ever  he 
came  to  us  in  these  Northern  wilds.  For  the  mistress  of  this 
household — with  all  her  domineering  ways  and  her  fits  of  majes- 
tic temper — has  a  love  for  her  intimate  girl-friends  far  passing 
the  love  of  men ;  especially  when  the  young  ladies  are  obedient 
and  gentle,  and  ready  to  pay  to  her  matronly  dignity  the  com- 
pliment of  a  respectful  awe.  And  this  particular  friend  who  is 
now  coming  to  us :  what  has  not  the  Laird  heard  about  her  dur- 
ing these  past  few  days  ? — of  her  high  courage,  her  resolute  un- 
selfishness, her  splendid  cheerfulness?  "A  singing -bird  in  the 
house,"  that  was  one  of  the  phrases  used,  "  in  wet  weather  or 
fine."  And  then  the  enthusiastic  friend  muddled  her  metaphors 
somehow,  and  gave  the  puzzled  Laird  to  understand  that  the 


6  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

presence  of  this  young  lady  in  a  house  was  like  having  sweet- 
brier  about  the  rooms.  No  wonder  he  put  on  his  highest  and 
stiffest  collar  before  he  marched  grandly  down  with  us  to  the 
quay. 

"And  does  she  not  deserve  a  long  holiday,  sir?"  says  the 
Laird's  hostess  to  him,  as  together  they  watch  for  the  steamer 
coming  round  the  point.  "  Just  fancy  !  Two  months'  attend- 
ance on  that  old  woman,  who  was  her  mother's  nurse.  Two 
months  in  a  sick-room,  without  a  soul  to  break  the  monotony  of 
it.     And  the  girl  living  in  a  strange  town  all  by  herself." 

"  Ay ;  and  in  such  a  town  as  Edinburgh,"  remarks  the  Laird, 
with  great  compassion.  His  own  propei'ty  lies  just  outside 
Glasgow. 

"  Dear  me !"  says  he,  "  what  must  a  young  English  leddy  have 
thought  of  our  Scotch  way  of  speech  when  she  heard  they  poor 
Edinburgh  bodies  and  their  yaumering  sing-song?  Not  that  I 
quarrel  with  any  people  for  having  an  accent  in  their  way  of 
speaking;  they  have  that  in  all  parts  of  England  as  well  as  in 
Scotland — in  Yorkshire,  and  Somersetshire,  and  what  not ;  and 
even  in  London  itself  there  is  a  way  of  speech  that  is  quite 
recognizable  to  a  stranger.  But  I  have  often  thought  that  there 
was  less  trace  of  accent  about  Glesca  and  the  west  of  Scotland 
than  in  any  other  part;  in  fact,  ah  have  often  been  taken  for  an 
Enii'lislinian  maself." 

''  Indeed  !"  says  this  gentle  creature  standing  by  him  ;  and  her 
upturned  eyes  are  full  of  an  innocent  belief.  You  would  swear 
she  was  meditating  on  summoning  instantly  her  boys  from  Ep- 
som College  that  they  might  acquire  a  pure  accent — or  get  rid 
of  all  accent — on  the  banks  of  the  Clyde. 

"  Yes,"  says  the  Laird,  with  a  decision  almost  amounting  to 
enthusiasm,  "  it  is  a  grand  inheritance  that  we  in  the  south  of 
Scotland  are  preserving  for  yon  English  people ;  and  you  know 
little  of  it.  You  do  not  know  that  we  are  preserving  the  Eng- 
lish language  for  you  as  it  was  spoken  centuries  ago,  and  as  you 
find  it  in  your  oldest  writings.  Scotticisms !  Why,  if  ye  were 
to  road  the  prose  of  Mandeville  or  Wyclif,  or  the  poetry  of 
Uobert  of  Brunne  or  Langdale,  ye  would  find  that  our  Scotticisms 
were  the  very  pith  and  marrow  of  the  English  language.  Ay, 
it  is  so." 

The  innocent  eyes  express  such   profound   interest  that  the 


ON    THE    QUAY.  7 

Laird  of  Denny-mains  almost  forgets  about  tlie  coming  steamer, 
so  anxious  is  he  to  crusli  us  with  a  display  of  liis  erudition. 

"It  is  just  remarkable,"  he  says,  "that  your  dictionaries  should 
put  down  as  obsolete  words  that  are  in  common  use  all  over  the 
south  of  Scotland,  where,  as  I  say,  the  old  Northumbrian  English 
is  preserved  in  its  purity  ;  and  that  ye  should  have  learned  people 
hunting  up  in  Chaucer  or  Gower  for  the  very  speech  that  they 
can  hear  among  the  bits  o'  weans  running  about  the  Gallowgate 
or  the  Broomielaw.  ^Whcis  add  yeV  you  say  to  one  of  them  ; 
and  you  think  you  are  talking  Scotch.  No,  no ;  acht  is  only  the 
old  English  for  possession :  isn't  '  Who's  acht  ye  ?''  shorter  and 
pithier  than  '  To  whoni  do  you  belong  ^  " 

"  Oh,  certainly  !"  says  the  meek  disciple  :  the  recall  of  the  boys 
from  Surrey  is  obviously  decided  on. 

"And  speir  for  inquire ;  and  ferly  for  luonderful;  and  tyne 
for  lose;  and /cy  for  about  to  die;  and  reek  for  smoke;  and 
menseful  for  becoming ;  and  belyve,  and  /ere,  and  biggan,  and 
such  words.  Ye  call  them  Scotch?  Oh  no,  ma'am;  they  are 
English ;  ye  find  them  in  all  the  old  English  writers,  and  they 
are  the  best  of  English,  too  ;  a  great  deal  better  than  the  Frenchi- 
fied stuff  that  your  Southern  English  has  become." 

Not  for  worlds  would  the  Laird  have  wounded  the  patriotic 
sensitiveness  of  this  gentle  friend  of  his  from  the  South ;  but, 
indeed,  she  had  surely  nothing  to  complain  of  in  his  insisting  to 
an  Englishwoman  on  the  value  of  thorough  English. 

"  I  thought,"  says  she,  demurely,  "  that  the  Scotch  had  a  good 
many  French  words  in  it." 

The  Laird  pretends  not  to  hear  :  he  is  so  deeply  interested  in 
the  steamer  which  is  now  coming  over  the  smooth  waters  of  the 
bay.  But,  having  announced  that  there  are  a  great  many  people 
on  board,  he  returns  to  his  discourse. 

"  Ah'm  sure  of  thi?,  too,"  says  he,  "  that  in  the  matter  of  pro- 
nunciation the  Lowland  Scotch  have  preserved  the  best  Eng- 
lish: you  can  see  that /a /^Ae?-,  and  twebnonth,  and  twa,  and  such 
words,  are  nearer  the  original  Anglo-Saxon — " 

His  hearers  had  been  taught  to  shudder  at  the  phrase  Anglo- 
Saxon — without  exactly  knowing  why.  But  who  could  with- 
stand the  authority  of  the  Laird  ?  Moreover,  we  see  relief  draw- 
ing near ;  the  steamer's  paddles  are  throbbing  in  the  still  after- 
noon. 

1* 


8  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

"  If  ye  turn  to  '  Piers  the  Plougliman,' "  continues  the  inde- 
fatigahle  Denny-mains,  "  ye  will  find  Langdale  writing — 

'  And  a  fewe  Cruddes  and  Crayme.' 

AVhy,  it  is  the  familiar  phrase  of  our  Scotch  children  ! — Do  ye 
think  they  would  say  curds — and  then,  fewe  ?  I  am  not  sure, 
but  I  imagine  we  Scotch  are  only  making  use  of  old  English 
when  we  make  certain  forms  of  food  plural.  We  say  '  a  few 
broth  ;'  we  speak  of  porridge  as  '  they,'  Perhaps  that  is  a  sur- 
vival, too,  eh  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  certainly.  But  please  mind  the  ropes,  sir,"  ob- 
serves his  humble  pupil,  careful  of  her  master's  physical  safety. 
For  at  this  moment  the  steamer  is  slowing  in  the  quay,  and  the 
men  have  the  ropes  ready  to  fling  ashore. 

"  Not,"  remarks  the  Laird,  prudently  backing  away  from  the 
edge  of  the  pier,  "  that  I  would  say  anything  of  these  matters 
to  your  young  English  friend  ;  certainly  not.  No  doubt  she  pre- 
fers the  Southern  English  she  has  been  accustomed  to.  But, 
bless  me  !  just  to  think  that  she  should  judge  of  our  Scotch 
tongue  by  the  way  they  Edinburgh  bodies  speak !" 

"It  is  sad,  is  it  not?"  remarks  his  companion  —  but  all  her 
attention  is  now  fixed  on  the  crowd  of  people  swarming  to  the 
side  of  the  steamer. 

"And,  indeed,"  the  Laird  explains,  to  close  the  subject,  "it  is 
only  a  hobby  of  mine — only  a  hobby.  Ye  may  have  noticed 
that  I  do  not  use  those  words  in  my  own  speech,  though  I  value 
them.  No,  I  will  not  force  any  Scotch  on  the  young  leddy. 
As  ah  say,  ah  have  often  been  taken  for  an  Englishman  maself, 
both  at  home  and  abroad." 

And  now  —  and  now  —  the  great  steamer  is  in  at  the  quay; 
the  gangways  are  run  over ;  there  is  a  thronging  up  the  paddle- 
boxes, 'and  eager  faces  on  shore  scan  equally  eager  faces  on 
board — each  pair  of  eyes  looking  for  that  other  pair  of  eyes  to 
flash  a  glad  recognition.  And  where  is  she — the  flower  of  wom- 
ankind, the  possessor  of  all  virtue  and  grace  and  courage,  the 
wonder  of  the  world?  The  Laird  shares  in  our  excitement.  lie, 
too,  scans  the  crowd  eagerly.  He  submits  to  be  hustled  by  the 
porters ;  he  hears  nothing  of  the  roaring  of  the  steam  ;  for  is  she 
not  coming  ashore  at  last  ?  And  we  know — or  guess — that  he 
is  looking  out  for  some  splendid  creature,  some  Boadicea  with 


MARY    AVON,  9 

stately  tread  and  imperious  mien,  some  Jeplitlia's  daughter  with 
proud  death  in  her  eyes,  some  Rosamond  of  our  modern  days 
with  a  glory  of  loveliness  on  her  face  and  hair.  And  we  know 
that  the  master  who  has  been  lecturing  us  for  half  an  hour  on 
our  disgraceful  neglect  of  pure  English  will  not  shock  the  sensi- 
tive Southern  ear  by  any  harsh  accent  of  the  North,  but  will  ad- 
dress her  in  beautiful  and  courtly  strains,  in  tones  such  as  Edin- 
burgh never  knew.  Where  is  the  queen  of  womankind,  amidst 
all  this  commonplace,  hurrying,  loquacious  crowd  ? 

And  then  the  Laird,  with  a  quick  amazement  in  his  eyes,  sees 
a  small  and  insignificant  person — he  only  catches  a  glimpse  of 
a  black  dress  and  a  white  face — suddenly  clasped  round  in  the 
warm  embrace  of  her  friend.  He  stares  for  a  second,  and  then 
exclaims — apparently  to  himself  : 

"  Dear  me  !     What  a  shilpit  bit  thing  1" 

Pale — slight — delicate — tiny  :  surely  such  a  master  of  idio- 
matic English  cannot  have  forgotten  the  existence  of  these  words. 
But  this  is  all  he  cries  to  himself,  in  his  surprise  and  wonder : 

"  Dear  me !     What  a  shilpit  bit  thing !" 


CHAPTER  II. 

MARY    AVON. 

The  bright,  frank  laugh  of  her  face !  the  friendly,  unhesitating, 
affectionate  look  in  those  soft  black  eyes !  He  forgot  all  about 
Rosamond  and  Boadicea  when  he  was  presented  to  this  "shilpit" 
person.  And  when,  instead  of  the  usual  ceremony  of  introduction, 
she  bravely  put  her  hand  in  his,  and  said  she  had  often  heard  of 
him  from  their  common  friend,  he  did  not  notice  that  she  was 
rather  plain.  He  did  not  even  stop  to  consider  in  what  degree 
her  Southern  accent  might  be  improved  by  residence  among  the 
preservers  of  pure  English,  He  was  anxious  to  know  if  she  was 
not  greatly  tired.  He  hoped  the  sea  had  been  smooth  as  the 
steamer  came  past  Easdale,  And  her  luggage — should  he  look 
after  her  luggage  for  her? 

But  Miss  Avon  was  an  expert  traveller,  and  quite  competent 
to  look  after  her  own  luggage.  Even  as  he  spoke,  it  was  being 
hoisted  on  to  the  wasonette. 


10  WHITE  wings:  a  vachting   romance. 

"  You  will  let  me  drive,"  says  she,  eying  critically  tlie  two 
shaggy,  farm-looking  animals. 

"  Indeed  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  says  her  hostess, 
promptly. 

But  there  was  no  disappointment  at  all  on  her  face  as  wc 
drove  away  through  the  golden  evening — by  the  side  of  the  mur- 
muring shore,  past  the  overhanging  fir-wood,  up  and  across  the 
high  land  commanding  a  view  of  the  wide  western  seas.  There 
was  instead  a  look  of  such  intense  delight  that  we  knew,  how- 
ever silent  the  lips  might  be,  that  the  bird-soul  was  singing  with- 
in. Everything  charmed  her — the  cool  sweet  air,  the  scent  of 
the  sea-weed,  the  glow  on  the  mountains  out  there  in  the  west. 
And  as  she  chattered  her  delight  to  us,  like  a  bird  escaped  from 
its  prison,  and  glad  to  get  into  the  sunlight  and  free  air  again, 
the  Laird  sat  mute,  and  listened.  He  watched  the  frank,  bright, 
expressive  face.  He  followed  and  responded  to  her  every  mood, 
with  a  sort  of  fond  paternal  indulgence  that  almost  prompted 
him  to  take  her  hand.  When  she  smiled,  he  laughed.  When  she 
talked  seriously,  he  looked  concerned.  He  was  entirely  forgetting 
that  she  was  a  "  shilpit  bit  thing;"  and  he  would  have  admitted 
that  the  Southern  way  of  speaking  English — although,  no  doubt, 
fallen  away  from  the  traditions  of  the  Northumbrian  dialect — had, 
after  all,  a  certain  music  in  it  that  made  it  pleasant  to  the  ear. 

Up  the  hill,  then,  with  a  flourish  for  the  last ! — the  dust  rolling 
away  in  clouds  behind  us,  the  view  over  the  Atlantic  widening 
as  we  ascend.  And  here  is  Castle  Osprey,  as  wc  have  dubbed 
the  place,  with  its  wide-open  door,  and  its  walls  half  hidden  with 
tree-fuchsias,  and  its  great  rose  garden.  Had  fair  Rosamond  her- 
self come  to  Castle  Osprey  that  evening,  she  could  not  have  been 
waited  on  with  greater  solicitude  than  the  Laird  showed  in  as- 
sisting this  "shilpit  bit  thing"  to  alight — though,  indeed,  there 
was  a  slight  stumble,  of  which  no  one  took  any  notice  at  the 
time.  He  busied  himself  with  her  luggage  quite  unnecessarily. 
He  suggested  a  cup  of  tea,  though  it  wanted  but  fifteen  minutes 
to  dinner-time.  He  assured  her  that  the  glass  was  rising — which 
was  not  the  case.  And  wlien  she  was  being  hurried  off  to  her 
own  room  to  prepare  for  diimer — by  one  who  rules  lier  house- 
hold with  a  rod  of  iron — he  liad  the  effrontery  to  tell  her  to  take 
her  own  time  :  dinner  could  wait.  The  man  actually  proposed 
to  keep  dinner  waiting — in  Castle  Osprey  ! 


MARY    AVON.  11 

That  this  was  love  at  first  sight,  who  could  doubt  ?  And  per- 
haps the  nunble  brain  of  one  who  was  at  this  moment  hurriedly 
dressing  in  her  own  room — and  whom  nature  has  constituted  an 
indefatigable  match-maker — may  have  been  considering  whether 
this  rich  old  bachelor  might  not  marry,  after  all.  And  if  he  were 
to  marry,  why  should  not  he  marry  the  young  lady  in  whom  he 
seemed  to  have  taken  so  sudden  and  warm  an  interest?  And  as 
for  her :  Mary  Avon  was  now  two  or  three  and  twenty ;  she  was 
not  likely  to  prove  attractive  to  young  men ;  her  small  fortune 
was  scarcely  worth  considering ;  she  was  almost  alone  in  the 
world.  Older  men  had  married  younger  women.  The  Laird  had 
neither  kith  nor  kin  to  inherit  Denny-mains  and  his  very  sub- 
stantial fortune.  And  would  they  not  see  plenty  of  each  other 
on  board  the  yacht  ? 

But  in  her  heart  of  hearts  the  schemer  knew  better.  She  knew 
that  the  romance  chapter  in  the  Laird's  life — and  a  bitter  chapter 
it  was  —  had  been  finished  and  closed  and  put  away  many  and 
many  a  year  ago.  She  knew  how  the  great  disappointment  of 
his  life  had  failed  to  sour  him ;  how  he  was  ready  to  share  among 
friends  and  companions  the  large  and  generous  heart  that  should 
never  have  been  laid  at  the  feet  of  a  jilt ;  how  his  keen  and  ac- 
tive interest,  that  might  have  been  confined  to  his  children  and 
his  children's  children,  was  now  devoted  to  a  hundred  things — 
the  planting  at  Denny-mains,  the  great  heresy  case,  the  patronage 
of  young  artists,  even  the  preservation  of  pure  English,  and  what 
not.  And  that  fortunate  young  gentleman — ostensibly  his  neph- 
ew— whom  he  had  sent  to  Harrow  and  to  Cambridge,  who  was 
now  living  a  very  easy  life  in  the  Middle  Temple,  and  who  w'ould 
no  doubt  come  in  for  Denny -mains?  AVellj  we  knew  a  little 
about  that  young  man,  too.  We  knew  why  the  Laird,  when  he 
found  that  both  the  boy's  father  and  mother  were  dead,  adopted 
him,  and  educated  him,  and  got  him  to  call  him  uncle.  He  had 
taken  under  his  care  the  son  of  the  woman  who  had  jilted  him 
five-and-thirty  years  ago :  the  lad  had  his  mother's  eyes. 

And  now  we  are  assembled  in  the  drawing-room — all  except 
the  new  guest;  and  the  glow  of  the  sunset  is  shining  in  at  the 
open  windows.  The  Laird  is  eagerly  proving  to  us  that  the 
change  from  the  cold  east  winds  of  Edinburgh  to  the  warm  w^est- 
erly  winds  of  the  Highlands  must  make  an  immediate  change  in 
the  young  lady's  face,  and  declaring  that  she  ought  to  go  on 


12  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 

board  the  yacht  at  once,  and  asserting  that  the  ladies'  cabin  on 
board  the  White  Dove  is  the  most  beautiful  little  cabin  he  ever 
saw,  when — 

When,  behold !  at  the  open  door,  meeting  the  glow  of  the  sun- 
shine, appears  a  figure,  dressed  all  in  black  velvet,  plain  and  un- 
adorned but  for  a  broad  belt  of  gold  fringe  that  comes  round  the 
neck  and  crosses  the  bosom.  And  above  that  again  is  a  lot  of 
white  muslin  stuS,  on  which  the  small,  shapely,  smooth-dressed 
head  seems  gently  to  rest.  The  plain  black  velvet  dress  gives  a 
certain  importance  and  substantiality  to  the  otherwise  slight  fig- 
ure ;  the  broad  fringe  of  gold  glints  and  gleams  as  she  moves  to- 
ward us ;  but  who  can  even  think  of  these  things  when  he  meets 
the  brave  glance  of  Mary  Avon's  eyes?  She  was  humming,  as 
she  came  down  the  stair: 

"  0  think  na  lang,  lassie,  though  I  gang  awa ; 
For  I'll  come  and  see  ye,  in  spite  o'  them  a'." 

We  might  have  known  it  was  the  bird-soul  come  among  us. 

Now  the  manner  in  which  the  Laird  of  Denny-mains  set  about 
capturing  the  affections  of  this  innocent  young  thing,  as  he  sat 
opposite  her  at  dinner,  would  have  merited  severe  reproof  in  one 
of  less  mature  age,  and  might,  indeed,  have  been  followed  by  se- 
rious consequences  but  for  the  very  decided  manner  in  which 
Miss  Avon  showed  that  she  could  take  care  of  herself.  Whoever 
heard  Mary  Avon  laugh  would  have  been  assured.  And  she  did 
laugh  a  good  deal ;  for  the  Laird,  determined  to  amuse  her,  was 
relating  a  series  of  anecdotes,  which  he  called  "good  ones,"  and 
which  seemed  to  have  afforded  great  enjoyment  to  the  people  of 
the  south  of  Scotland  during  the  last  century  or  so.  There  was 
in  especial  a  Highland  steward  of  a  steamer  about  whom  a  vast 
number  of  these  stories  was  told ;  and  if  the  point  was  at  times 
rather  difficult  to  catch,  who  could  fail  to  be  tickled  by  the 
Laird's  own  and  obvious  enjoyment?  "There  was  another  good 
one.  Miss  Avon,"  he  would  say ;  and.  then  the  bare  memory  of 
the  great  facetiousness  of  the  anecdote  would  break  out  in  such 
half-suppressed  guffaws  as  altogether  to  stop  the  current  of  the 
narrative.  Miss  Avon  laughed — we  could  not  quite  toll  whether 
it  was  at  the  Highland  steward  or  the  Laird — until  the  tears  ran 
down  her  cheeks.  Dinner  was  scarcely  thought  of.  It  was  a 
disrrraceful  exhibition. 


MARY    AVON.  13 

"  There  was  another  good  one  about  Homesh,"  said  the  Laird, 
vainly  endeavoring  to  suppress  his  huighter.  "  lie  came  up  on 
deck  one  enormously  hot  day,  and  looked  ashore,  and  saw  some 
cattle  standing  knee-deep  in  a  pool  of  water.  Says  he — ha  !  ha ! 
ha! — ho  !  ho  !  ho  ! — says  he — says  he,  ^Ah  wish  ah  wass  a  stott  /' 
—he!  he!  he!— ho!  ho!  ho!" 

Of  course  we  all  laughed  heartily,  and  Mary  Avon  more  than 
any  of  us ;  but  if  she  had  gone  down  on  her  knees  and  sworn 
that  she  knew  what  the  point  of  the  story  was,  we  should  not 
have  believed  her.  But  the  Laird  was  delighted.  He  went  on 
Avith  his  good  ones.  The  mythical  Ilomesh  and  his  idiotic  ad- 
ventures became  portentous.  The  very  serv'ants  could  scarcely 
carry  the  dishes  straight. 

But  in  the  midst  of  it  all  the  Laird  suddenly  let  his  knife  and 
fork  drop  on  his  plate,  and  stared.     Then  he  quickly  exclaimed : 

"  Bless  me,  lassie  !" 

We  saw  in  a  second  what  had  occasioned  his  alarm.  The  girl's 
face  had  become  ghastly  white ;  and  she  was  almost  falling  away 
from  her  chair,  when  her  hostess,  who  happened  to  spring  to  her 
feet  first,  caught  her,  and  held  her,  and  called  for  water.  What 
could  it  mean  ?  Mary  Avon  was  not  of  the  sighing  and  fainting 
fraternity. 

And  presently  she  came  to  herself,  and  faintly  making  apolor 
gies,  would  go  from  the  room.  It  was  her  ankle,  she  murmured, 
with  the  face  still  white  from  pain.  But  when  she  tried  to  rise, 
she  fell  back  again :  the  agony  was  too  great.  And  so  we  had 
to  carry  her. 

About  ten  minutes  thereafter  the  mistress  of  the  house  came 
back  to  the  Laird,  who  had  been  sitting  by  himself,  in  great  con- 
cern. 

"  That  girl !  that  girl !"  she  exclaims,  and  one  might  almost 
imagine  there  are  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  Can  you  fancy  such  a 
thing !  She  twists  her  ankle  in  getting  down  from  the  wagonette, 
brings  back  the  old  sprain — perhaps  lames  herself  for  life — and, 
in  spite  of  the  pain,  sits  here  laughing  and  joking,  so  that  she 
may  not  spoil  our  first  evening  together !  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
such  a  thing !  Sitting  here  laughing,  with  her  ankle  swelled  so 
that  I  had  to  cut  the  boot  off !" 

"  Gracious  me  !"  says  the  Laird  ;  "  is  it  as  bad  as  that  ?" 

"And  if  she  should  become  permanently  lame,  why — why — " 


14  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

But  was  she  going  to  make  an  appeal  direct  to  the  owner  of 
Denny-mains?  If  the  younger  men  were  not  likely  to  marry  a 
lame  little  white-faced  girl,  that  was  none  of  his  business.  The 
Laird's  marrying  days  had  departed  five-and-thirty  years  before. 

However,  we  had  to  finish  our  dinner  somehow,  in  considera- 
tion to  our  guest.  And  then  the  surgeon  came,  and  bound  up 
the  foot  and  ankle  hard  and  fast ;  and  Miss  Avon,  with  a  thousand 
meek  apologies  for  being  so  stupid,  declared  again  and  again  that 
her  foot  would  be  all  right  in  the  morning,  and  that  we  must  get 
ready  to  start.  And  when  her  friend  assured  her  that  this  pre- 
liminary canter  of  the  yacht  might  just  as  well  be  put  off  for  a 
few  days — until,  for  example,  that  young  doctor  from  Edinburgh 
came  who  had  been  invited  to -go  a  proper  cruise  with  us — her 
distress  was  so  great  that  we  had  to  promise  to  start  next  day 
punctually  at  ten.  And  so  she  sent  us  down  again  to  amuse  the 
Laird. 

But,  hark !  what  is  this  we  hear,  just  as  Denny-mains  is  having 
his  whiskey  and  hot  water  brought  in  ?  It  is  a  gay  voice  hum- 
ming on  the  stairs : 

"  By  the  margin  of  fair  Ziirich's  waters." 

"That  girl!"  cries  her  hostess,  angrily,  as  she  jumps  to  her 
feet. 

But  the  door  opens,  and  here  is  Mary  Avon,  with  calm  self- 
possession,  making  her  way  to  a  chair. 

"I  knew  you  wouldn't  beHeve  me,"  says  she,  coolly,  "if  I  did 
not  come  down,  I  tell  you  my  foot  is  as  well  as  may  be ;  and 
Dot-and-carry-one  will  get  down  to  the  yacht  in  the  morning  as 
easily  as  any  of  you.  And  that  last  story  about  Ilomesh,"  she 
says  to  the  Laird,  with  a  smile  in  the  soft  black  eyes  that  must 
have  made  his  heart  jump — "really,  sir,  you  must  tell  me  the 
ending  of  that  story;  it  was  so  stupid  of  me !" 

"Sliilpit"  she  may  have  been;  but  the  Laird,  for  one,  was  be- 
ginning to  believe  that  this  girl  had  the  courage  and  nerve  of  a 
dozen  men. 


UNDER    WAY.  15 


CHAPTER  III. 

rXDER  WAY. 

The  first  eager  glance  out  on  this  brilliant  and  beautiful  morn- 
ing ;  and  behold !  it  is  all  a  wonder  of  blue  seas  and  blue  skies 
that  we  find  before  us,  with  Lismore  lying  golden  green  in  the 
sunlight,  and  the  great  mountains  of  Mull  and  Morven  shining 
with  the  pale  ethereal  colors  of  the  dawn.  And  what  are  the 
rhymes  that  are  ringing  through  one's  brain — the  echo  of  some- 
thing heard  far  away  among  the  islands — the  islands  that  await 
our  coming  in  the  west  ? 

"  0  land  of  red  heather ! 

0  land  of  wild  weather, 
And  the  cry  of  the  waves,  and  the  laugh  of  the  breeze ! 

0  love,  now,  together 

Through  the  wmd  and  wild  weather 
We  spread  our  white  wings  to  encounter  the  seas  I" 

Up  and  out,  laggards,  now ;  and  hoist  this  big  red  and  blue 
and  white  thing  up  to  the  head  of  the  tall  pole,  that  the  lads  far 
below  may  know  to  send  the  gig  ashore  for  us  !  And  there,  on  the 
rufiled  blue  waters  of  the  bay,  behold  !  the  noble  White  Dove, 
with  her  great  main-sail  and  mizzen  and  jib  all  set  and  glowing 
in  the  sun  ;  and  the  scarlet  caps  of  the  men  are  like  points  of 
fire  in  this  fair  blue  picture ;  and  the  red  ensign  is  fluttering  in 
the  light  north-westerly  breeze.  Breakfast  is  hurried  over;  and 
a  small  person  who  has  a  passion  for  flowers  is  dashing  hither 
and  thither  in  the  garden  until  she  has  amassed  an  armful  of 
our  old  familiar  friends — abundant  roses,  fuchsias,  heart's -ease, 
various  colored  columbine,  and  masses  of  southernwood  to  scent 
our  floating  saloon  ;  the  wagonette  is  at  the  door,  to  take  our  in- 
valid down  to  the  landing-slip  ;  and  the  Laird  has  discarded  his 
dignified  costume,  and  appears  in  a  shooting-coat  and  a  vast  gray 
wide-awake.  As  for  Mary  Avon,  she  is  laughing,  chatting,  sing- 
ing, here,  there,  and  everywhere — giving  us  to  understand  that  a 
sprained  ankle  is  rather  a  pleasure  than  otherwise,  and  a  great  as- 


16  WHITE  wings:   a  yachting  romance. 

sistance  in  walking ;  until  the  Laird  pounces  upon  her — as  one 
might  pounce  on  a  butterfly — and  imprisons  her  in  the  wagon- 
ette, with  many  a  serious  warning  about  her  imprudence.  There 
let  her  sing  to  herself  as  she  likes,  amidst  the  wild  confusion  of 
things  forgotten  till  the  last  moment,  and  thrust  upon  us  just  as 
we  start. 

And  here  is  the  stalwart  and  brown-bearded  Captain  John — 
John  of  Skye  we  call  him — himself  come  ashore  in  the  gig,  in 
all  his  splendor  of  blue  and  brass  buttons ;  and  he  takes  off  his 
peaked  cap  to  the  mistress  of  our  household — whom  some  of  her 
friends  call  Queen  Titania,  because  of  her  midge-like  size — and 
he  says  to  her,  with  a  smile, 

"And  will  Mrs. herself  be  going  with  us  this  time?" 

That  is  Captain  John's  chief  concern ;  for  he  has  a  great  re- 
gard for  this  domineering  small  woman ;  and  shows  his  respect 
for  her,  and  his  own  high  notions  of  courtesy,  by  invariably  ad- 
dressing her  in  the  third  person. 

"  Oh  yes,  John  !"  says  she — and  she  can  look  pleasant  enough 
when  she  likes — "  and  this  is  a  young  friend  of  mine,  Miss  Avon, 
whom  you  have  to  take  great  care  of  on  board." 

And  Captain  John  takes  off  his  cap  again,  and  is  understood 
to  tell  the  young  lady  that  he  will  do  his  best,  if  she  will  excuse 
his  not  knowing  much  English.  Then,  with  great  care,  and  with 
some  difficulty,  Miss  Avon  is  assisted  down  from  the  wagonette, 
and  conducted  along  the  rough  little  landing -slip,  and  helped 
into  the  stern  of  the  shapely  and  shining  gig.  Away  with  her, 
boys  !  The  splash  of  the  oars  is  heard  in  the  still  bay ;  the 
shore  recedes ;  the  white  sails  seem  to  rise  higher  into  the  blue 
sky  as  we  near  the  yacht :  here  is  the  black  hull  with  its  line  of 
gold  —  the  gangway  open  —  the  ropes  ready  —  the  white  decks 
clear  and  shining.     We  are  on  board  at  last. 

"And  where  will  Mr. himself  be  for  going?"  asks  John 

of  Skye,  as  the  men  arc  hauling  the  gig  up  to  the  davits. 

Mr. briefly  but  seriously  explains  to  the  captain  that, 

from  some  slight  experience  of  the  winds  on  this  coast,  he  has 
found  it  of  about  as  much  use  to  order  the  tides  to  be  clianged 
as  to  settle  upon  any  definite  route.  But  lie  suggests  the  cir- 
cumnavigation of  Mull  as  a  sort  of  preliminary  canter  for  a  few 
day.s,  until  a  certain  notable  guest  shall  arrive ;  and  he  would 
prefer  going  by  the  south,  if  the  honorable  winds  will  permit. 


UNDER    WAV.  1  ( 

Further,  John  of  Skye  is  not  to  be  afraid  of  a  bit  of  sea,  on  ac- 
count of  either  of  those  ladies ;  both  are  excellent  sailors.  With 
these  somewhat  vague  instructions.  Captain  John  is  left  to  get 
the  yacht  under  way ;  and  we  go  below  to  look  after  the  stowage 
of  our  things  in  the  various  state-rooms. 

And  what  is  this  violent  altercation  going  on  in  the  saloon  ? 

"  I  will  not  have  a  word  said  against  my  captain,"  says  Mary 
Avon,  "  I  am  in  love  with  him  already.  His  English  is  per- 
fectly correct." 

This  impertinent  minx  talking  about  correct  English  in  the 
pi'esence  of  the  Laird  of  Denny-mains ! 

" '  Mrs. herself '  is  perfectly  correct ;  it  is  only  polite- 
ness ;  it  is  like  saying  'Your  Grace '  to  a  duke." 

But  who  was  denying  it  ?  Surely  not  the  imperious  little 
woman  who  was  arranging  her  flowers  on  the  saloon  table  ;  nor 
yet  Denny-mains,  who  was  examining  a  box  of  variegated  and 
recondite  fishing-tackle  ? 

"  It  is  all  very  well  for  fine  ladies  to  laugh  at  the  blunders  of 
servant  -  maids,"  continues  this  audacious  girl,  "'Miss  Brown 
presents  her  compliments  to  Miss  Smith ;  and  would  you  be  so 
kind,'  and  so  on.  But  don't  they  often  make  the  same  blunder 
themselves  ?" 

Well,  this  was  a  discovery  ! 

"  Doesn't  Mrs.  So-and-So  or  Lady  So-and-So  request  the  honor 
of  the  company  of  Mr.  So-and-So  or  Miss  So-and-So ;  and  then 
you  find  at  the  corner  of  the  card  ''R.  S.  V.  P.  ?  Answer,  if  you 
please !" 

The  darkness  of  a  stricken  conscience  fell  on  us.  This  girl 
was  right. 

But  her  triumph  makes  her  considerate.  She  will  not  harry 
us  with  scorn. 

"  It  is  becoming  far  less  common  now,  however,"  she  remarks, 
"  'An  answer  is  requested,'  is  much  more  sensible." 

"  It  is  English,"  says  the  Laird,  with  decision.  "  Surely  it 
must  be  more  sensible  for  an  English  person  to  write  English, 
Ah  never  use  a  French  word  maself." 

But  what  is  the  English  that  we  hear  now — called  out  on  deck 
by  the  voice  of  John  of  Skye  ? 

"  Eachan,  slack  the  lee  topping-lift !  Ay,  and  the  tackle,  too. 
That  '11  do,  boys.     Down  with  your  main  tack  now  !" 


18  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 

"  Why,"  exclaims  our  sovereign  mistresa^  who  knows  some- 
thing of  nautical  matters,  "  we  must  have  started  !" 

Then  there  is  a  tumbling  up  the  companion-way  ;  and  lo  !  the 
land  is  slowly  leaving  us,  and  there  is  a  lapping  of  the  blue  water 
along  the  side  of  the  boat,  and  the  white  sails  of  the  White  Dove 
are  tilled  with  this  gentle  breeze.  Deck -stools  are  arranged, 
books  and  field-glasses  and  what  not  scattered  about;  Mary 
Avon  is  helped  on  deck,  and  ensconced  in  a  snug  little  camp- 
chair.     The  days  of  our  summer  idleness  have  begun. 

And  as  yet  these  are  but  familiar  scenes  that  steal  slowly  by : 
the  long  green  island  of  Lismore — Lios-mor,  the  Great  Garden ; 
the  dark  ruins  of  Daart,  sombre  as  if  the  shadow  of  nameless 
tragedies  rested  on  the  crumbling  walls ;  Loch  Don,  with  its  sea- 
bird-haunted  shallows,  and  Loch  Speliv,  leading  up  to  the  awful 
solitudes  of  Glen  More ;  and  then,  stretching  far  into  the  wreath- 
ing clouds,  the  long  rampart  of  precipices,  rugged  and  barren 
and  lonely,  that  form  the  eastern  wall  of  Mull. 

There  is  no  monotony ;  the  scene  changes  every  moment,  as 
the  light  breeze  bears  us  away  to  the  south.  For  there  is  the 
Sheep  Island ;  and  Garveloch — which  is  the  rough  island ;  and 
Eilean-na-naomha — which  is  the  island  of  the  Saints.  But  what 
are  these  to  the  small  transparent  cloud  resting  on  the  horizon? 
— smaller  than  any  man's  hand.  And  the  day  is  still,  and  the 
seas  are  smooth :  cannot  we  hear  the  mermaiden  singing  on  the 
far  shores  of  Colonsay  ? 

"  Colonsay  !"  exclaims  the  Laird,  seizing  a  field-glass.  "  Dear 
me  !  Is  that  Colonsay  ?  And  they  telled  me  that  Tom  Galbraith 
was  going  there  this  very  year." 

The  piece  of  news  fails  to  startle  us  altogether,  though  we 
have  heard  the  Laird  speak  of  Mi-.  Galbraith  before. 

"Ay,"  says  he,  "the  world  will  know  something  o'  Colonsay 
when  Tom  Galbraith  gets  there." 

"  Whom  did  you  say  ?"  Miss  Avon  asks. 

"  Why,  Galbraith,"  says  he.     "  Tom  Galbraith." 

The  Laird  stares  in  amazement.  Is  it  possible  she  has  not  heard 
of  Tom  Galbraith?  And  she  herself  an  artist,  and  coming  direct 
from  Edinburgh,  where  she  has  been  living  for  two  whole  months! 

"Gracious  me!"  says  the  Laird.  "Ye  do  not  say  ye  have 
never  heard  of  Galbraith?  He's  an  Acadcmeccian — a  Scottish 
Acaderaeccian  1" 


UNDER    WAY.  19 

"  Oh  yes ;  no  doubt,"  she  says,  rather  bewildered. 

"  There  is  no  one  living  has  had  such  an  influence  on  our 
Scotch  school  of  painters  as  Galbraith — a  man  of  great  abcclity 
— a  man  of  great  and  uncommon  abeclity ;  he  is  one  of  the  most 
famous  painters  of  our  day." 

"  I  scarcely  met  any  one  in  Edinburgh,"  she  pleads. 

"  But  in  London — in  London  !"  exclaims  the  astonished  Laird. 
"  Do  ye  mean  to  say  you  never  heard  o'  Tom  Galbraith  ?" 

"  I — I  think  not,"  she  confesses.  "  I — I  don't  remember  his 
name  in  the  Academy  catalogue — " 

"  The  Royal  Academy  !"  cries  the  Laird,  with  scorn.  "  No, 
no.  Ye  need  not  expect  that.  The  English  Academy  is  afraid 
of  the  Scotchmen :  their  pictures  are  too  strong :  you  do  not  put 
good  honest  whiskey  beside  small  -  beer.  I  say  the  English 
Academy  is  afraid  of  the  Scotch  school — " 

But  flesh  and  blood  can  stand  this  no  longer:  we  shall  not 
have  Mary  Avon  trampled  upon. 

"Look  here,  Denny -mains:  we  always  thought  there  was  a 
Scotchman  or  two  in  the  Royal  Academy  itself — and  quite  capable 
of  holding  their  own  there,  too.  Why,  the  President  of  the  Acad- 
emy is  a  Scotchman  1  And^as  for  the  Academy  exhibition,  the  very 
walls  are  smothered  with  Scotch  hills,  Scotch  spates,  Scotch  peas- 
ants, to  say  nothing  of  the  thousand  herring-smacks  of  Tarbert." 

"  I  tell  ye  they  are  afraid  of  Tom  Galbraith  ;  they  will  not  ex- 
hibit one  of  his  pictures,"  says  the  Laird,  stubbornly.  And  here 
the  discussion  is  closed ;  for  Master  Fred  tinkles  his  bell  below, 
and  we  have  to  go  down  for  luncheon. 

It  was  most  unfair  of  the  wind  to  take  advantage  of  our  ab- 
sence, and  to  sneak  oS,  leaving  us  in  a  dead  calm.  It  was  all 
very  well,  when  we  came  on  deck  again,  to  watch  the  terns  dart- 
ing about  in  their  swallow-like  fashion,  and  swooping  down  to 
seize  a  fish ;  and  the  strings  of  sea-pyots  whirring  by,  with  their 
scarlet  beaks  and  legs ;  and  the  sudden  shimmer  and  hissing  of  a 
part  of  the  blue  plain,  where  a  shoal  of  mackerel  had  come  to  the 
surface ;  but  where  were  we,  now  in  the  open  Atlantic,  to  pass 
the  night?  We  reUnquished  the  doubling  of  the  Ross  of  Mull ;  we 
should  have  been  content — more  than  content,  for  certain  reasons* 

*  A  health  to  you,  madam  ! — and  to  the  Laird,  tqp ;  and  may  you  live  long 
and  prosper !     But,  alas  !  alas !  those  rocks !     We  were  always  afraid. 


20  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

— to  have  put  into  Carsaig;  we  were  beginning  even  to  liave 
ignominious  thoughts  of  Loch  Buy.  And  yet  we  let  the  golden 
evening  draw  on  with  comparative  resignation ;  and  we  watched 
the  color  gathering  in  the  west,  and  the  Atlantic  taking  darker 
hues,  and  a  ruddy  tinge  beginning  to  tell  on  the  seamed  ridges 
of  Garveloch  and  the  isle  of  Saints.  AA'hen  the  wind  sprung  up 
again — it  had  backed  to  due  west,  and  we  had  to  beat  against  it 
with  a  series  of  long  tacks,  that  took  us  down  within  sight  of 
Islay  and  back  to  Mull  apparently  all  for  nothing — we  were  deep- 
ly engaged  in  prophesying  all  manner  of  things  to  be  achieved 
by  one  Angus  Sutherland,  an  old  friend  of  ours,  though  yet  a 
young  man  enough. 

"  Just  fancy,  sir !"  says  our  hostess  to  the  Laird — the  Laird, 
by-the-way,  does  not  seem  so  enthusiastic  as  the  rest  of  us  when 
he  hears  that  this  hero  of  modern  days  is  about  to  join  our  party. 
"  What  he  has  done  beats  all  that  I  ever  heard  about  Scotch  Uni- 
versity students ;  and  you  know  what  some  of  them  have  done  in 
the  face  of  difficulties.  His  father  is  a  minister  in  some  small 
place  in  Banffshire ;  perhaps  he  has  £200  a  year  at  the  outside. 
This  son  of  his  has  not  cost  him  a  farthing  for  either  his  main- 
tenance or  his  education  since  he  was  fourteen ;  he  took  bursaries, 
scholarships,  I  don't  know  what,  when  he  was  a  mere  lad ;  sup- 
ported himself  and  travelled  all  over  Europe ;  but  I  think  it  was 
at  Lcipsic  and  at  Vienna  he  studied  longest ;  and  the  papers  he 
has  written,  the  lectures,  and  the  correspondence  with  all  the  great 
scientific  people  !  When  they  made  him  a  Fellow,  all  he  said  was, 
"  I  wish  my  mother  was  alive." 

This  was  rather  an  incoherent  and  jumbled  account  of  a  young 
man's  career. 

"A  Fellow  of  what!"  says  tlie  Laird. 

"A  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Society!  They  made  him  a  Fellow 
of  the  Royal  Society  last  year  I  And  he  is  only  seven-and-fwen- 
ty !  I  do  believe  he  was  not  over  one-and-twenty  when  he  took 
his  degree  at  lidinburgh.  And  then — and  then — there  is  really 
nothing  that  he  doesn't  know  :  is  there,  Mary  ?" 

This  sudden  appeal  causes  Mary  Avon  to  flush  slightly ;  but 
she  says,  demurely,  looking  down, 

"  Of  course  I  don't  know  anything  that  he  doesn't  know." 

"  IFm  !"  says  the  Laird,  who  docs  not  seem  ovcrpleased.  "  I 
have  observed  that  young  men  who  are  too  brilliant  at  the  first 


UNDEK    WAY.  21 

seldom  come  to  much  afterward.  Has  he  gained  anything  sub- 
stantial? Has  ho  a  good  practice?  Does  he  keep  his  carriage 
yet?" 

"  No,  no !"  says  our  hostess,  with  a  fine  contempt  for  such 
things.  "  He  has  a  higher  ambition  than  that.  His  practice  is 
almost  nothing.  He  prefers  to  sacrifice  that  in  the  mean  time. 
But  his  reputation — among  the  scientific — why — why,  it  is  Euro- 
pean !" 

"  H'm  !"  says  the  Laird.  "  I  have  sometimes  seen  that  persons 
who  gave  themselves  up  to  erudeetion  lost  the  character  of  human 
beings  altogether.  They  become  scientific  machines.  The  world 
is  just  made  up  of  books  for  them — and  lectures ;  they  would  not 
give  a  half-penny  to  a  beggar  for  fear  of  poleetical  economy — " 

"  Oh,  how  can  you  say  such  a  thing  of  Angus  Sutherland !" 
says  she,  though  he  has  said  no  such  thing  of  Angus  Sutherland. 
"  Why,  here  is  this  girl  who  goes  to  Edinburgh — all  by  herself — 
to  nurse  an  old  woman  in  her  last  illness ;  and  as  Angus  Suther- 
land is  in  Edinburgh  on  some  business — connected  with  the  Uni- 
versity, I  believe — I  ask  him  to  call  on  her  and  see  if  he  can  give 
her  any  advice.  What  does  he  do  ?  He  stops  in  Edinburgh  two 
months — editing  that  scientific  magazine  there  instead  of  in  Lon- 
don— and  all  because  he  has  taken  an  interest  in  the  old  woman, 
and  thinks  that  Mary  should  not  have  the  whole  responsibility  on 
her  shoulders.     Is  that  like  a  scientific  machine?" 

"No,"  says  the  Laird,  with  a  certain  calm  grandeur;  "you  do 
not  often  find  young  men  doing  that  for  the  sake  of  an  old  w^om- 
an."     But  of  course  we  don't  know  what  he  means. 

"And  I  am  so  glad  he  is  coming  to  us!"  says  she,  with  real 
delight  in  her  face.  "  We  sliall  take  him  away  from  his  micro- 
scopes, and  his  societies,  and  all  that.  Oh,  and  he  is  such  a  de- 
lightful companion — so  simple,  and  natural,  and  straightforward  ! 
Don't  you  think  so,  Mary  ?" 

Mary  Avon  is  understood  to  assent :  she  does  not  say  much — 
she  is  so  deeply  interested  in  a  couple  of  porpoises  that  appear 
from  time  to  time  on  the  smooth  plain  of  the  sea. 

"  I  am  sure  a  long  holiday  would  do  him  a  world  of  good," 
says  this  eager  hostess ;  "  but  that  is  too  much  to  expect.  He  is 
always  too  busy.  I  think  he  has  got  to  go  over  to  Italy  soon, 
about  some  exhibition  of  surgical  instruments,  or  something  of 

that  sort." 

2 


22  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

We  tad  plenty  of  further  talk  about  Angus  Sutherland,  and  of 
the  wonderful  future  that  lay  before  him,  that  evening  before  we 
tinally  put  into  Loch  Buy.  And  there  we  dined ;  and  after  din- 
ner we  found  the  wan,  clear  twilight  filling  the  northern  heavens, 
over  the  black  range  of  mountains,  and  throwing  a  silver  glare  on 
the  smooth  sea  around  us.  We  could  have  read  on  deck  at  elev- 
en at  night,  had  that  been  necessary ;  but  Mary  Avon  was  hum- 
ming snatches  of  songs  to  us,  and  the  Laird  was  discoursing  of 
the  wonderful  influence  exerted  on  Scotch  landscape  art  by  Tom 
Galbraith.  Then  in  the  south  the  yellow  moon  rose ;  and  a  gold- 
en lane  of  light  lay  on  the  sea,  from  the  horizon  across  to  the 
side  of  the  yacht;  and  there  was  a  strange  glory  on  the  decks 
and  on  the  tall,  smooth  masts.  The  peace  of  that  night! — the 
soft  air,  the  silence,  the  dreamy  lapping  of  the  water  ! 

"And  whatever  lies  before  Angus  Sutherland,"  says  one  of  us 
— "  whether  a  baronetcy,  or  a  big  fortune,  or  a  marriage  with  an 
Italian  princess,  he  won't  find  anything  better  than  a  cruise  in 
the  White  DoveP 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A    MESSAGE. 

What  fierce  commotion  is  this  that  awakes  us  in  the  morning 
— what  pandemonium  broken  loose  of  wild  storm-sounds  —  with 
the  stately  White  Dove,  ordinarily  the  most  sedate  and  gentle  of 
her  sex,  apparently  gone  mad,  and  flinging  herself  about  as  if 
bent -on  somersaults?  When  one  clambers  up  the  companion- 
way,  clinging  hard,  and  puts  one's  head  out  into  the  gale,  be- 
hold 1  there  is  not  a  trace  of  land  visible  anywhere — nothing  but 
whirling  clouds  of  mist  and  rain ;  and  mountain  masses  of  waves 
that  toss  the  White  Dove  about  as  if  she  were  a  plaything ;  and 
decks  all  running  wet  with  the  driven  spray.  John  of  Skye,  clad 
from  head  to  heel  in  black  oil-skins — and  at  one  moment  up  in 
the  clouds,  the  next  moment  descending  into  the  great  trough  of 
the  sea — hangs  on  to  the  rope  that  is  twisted  round  the  tiller,  and 
laughs  a  good-morning,  and  shakes  the  salt-water  from  his  shaggy 
eyebrows  and  beard. 

"  llalloo !  John — where  on  earth  have  we  got  to  ?" 


A    MESSAGE.  23 

"Ay,  ay,  sir." 

"  I  say,  WHERE  ARE  WE  ?"  is  shoutcd,  for  the  roar  of  the  rusli- 
ing  Atlantic  is  deafening. 

"  'Deed  I  not  think  we  are  far  from  Loch  Buy,"  says  John 
of  Skye,  grimly.  "  The  wind  is  dead  ahead  of  us — ay,  shist  dead 
ahead !" 

"  What  made  you  come  out  against  a  head-wind,  then  ?" 

"When  we  cam'  out,"  says  John,  picking  his  English,  "the 
wind  will  be  from  the  norse — ay,  a  fine  light  breeze  from  the 

norse.     And  will  Mr. himself  be  for  going  on  now  ? — it  is 

a  ferry  bad  sea  for  the  leddies — a  ferry  coorse  sea." 

But  it  appears  that  this  conversation — bawled  aloud — has  been 
overheard.  There  are  voices  from  below.  The  skylight  of  the 
ladies'  cabin  is  partly  open. 

"  Don't  mind  us,"  calls  Mary  Avon.     "  Go  on,  by  all  means  !" 

The  other  voice  calls : 

"  Why  can't  you  keep  this  fool  of  a  boat  straight  ?  Ask  him 
when  we  shall  be  into  the  Sound  of  lona." 

One  might  as  well  ask  him  when  we  shall  be  into  the  Sound  of 
Jericho  or  Jerusalem.  With  half  a  gale  of  wind  right  in  our  teeth, 
and  with  the  heavy  Atlantic  swell  running,  we  might  labor  here 
all  day — and  all  the  night  too — without  getting  round  the  Ross 
of  Mull.  There  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  turn  and  run,  that  we 
may  have  our  breakfast  in  peace.  Let  her  away,  then,  you  brave 
John  of  Skye ! — slack  out  the  main-sheet,  and  give  her  plenty  of 
it,  too  :  then  at  the  same  moment  Sandy  from  Islay  perceives  that 
a  haul  at  the  weather  topping-lift  will  clear  the  boom  from  the 
davits;  and  now,  good  Master  Fred  —  our  much -esteemed  and 
shifty  Fricdrich  d'or — if  you  will  but  lay  the  cloth  on  the  table, 
we  will  help  you  to  steady  the  dancing  phantasmagoria  of  plates 
and  forks ! 

"  Dear  me !"  says  the  Laird,  when  we  are  assembled  together, 
"  it  has  been  an  awful  night !" 

"  Oh,  I  hope  you  have  not  been  ill !"  says  his  hostess,  with  a 
quick  concern  in  the  soft,  clear  eyes. 

He  does  not  look  as  if  he  had  suffered  much.  He  is  content- 
edly chipping  an  egg,  and  withal  keeping  an  eye  on  the  things 
near  him  ;  for  the  White  Dove,  still  plunging  a  good  deal,  threat- 
ens at  times  to  make  of  everything  on  the  table  a  movable  feast. 

"  Oh  no,  ma'am,  not  ill,"  he  says ;  "  but  at  my  time  of  life,  ye 


24  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

see,  one  is  not  as  light  in  weight  as  one  used  to  be ;  and  the  way 
I  was  flung  about  in  that  cabin  last  night  was  just  extraordinary. 
When  I  was  trying  to  put  on  my  boots  this  morning,  I  am  sure 
I  resembled  nothing  so  much  as  a  pea  in  a  bladder — indeed,  it 
was  so — I  was  knocked  about  like  a  pea  in  a  bladder." 

Of  course  we  expressed  great  sympathy,  and  assured  him  that 
the  White  Dove — famed  all  along  this  coast  for  her  sober  and 
steady-going  behavior — would  never  act  so  any  more. 

"However,"  said  he,  thoughtfully,  "the  wakefulness  of  the 
night  is  often  of  use  to  people.     Yes,  I  have  come  to  a  decision." 

We  were  somewhat  alarmed.  AVas  he  going  to  leave  us  merely 
because  of  this  bit  of  tossing  ? 

"  I  dare  say  ye  know,  ma'am,"  says  he,  slowly,  "that  I  am  one 
of  the  Commissioners  of  the  Burgh  of  Strathgovan.  It  is  a  posee- 
tion  of  grave  responsibility.  This  very  question  now — about  our 
getting  a  steam  fire-engine — has  been  weighing  on  my  mind  for 
many  a  day.  Well,  I  have  decided  I  will  no  longer  oppose  it. 
They  may  have  the  same  fire-engine,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

We  felt  greatly  relieved. 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  Laird,  solemnly  ;  "  I  think  I  am  doing 
my  duty  in  this  matter  as  a  public  man  should — laying  aside  his 
personal  prejudice.  But  the  cost  of  it !  Do  ye  know  that  we 
shall  want  bigger  nozzles  to  all  the  fire-plugs  ?" 

Matters  were  looking  grave  again. 

"However,"  said  the  Laird,  cheerfully — for  he  would  not  de- 
press us  too  much — "  it  may  all  turn  out  for  the  best ;  and  I  will 
telegraph  my  decision  to  Strathgovan  as  soon  as  ever  the  storm 
allows  us  to  reach  a  port." 

The  storm,  indeed  !  WHicn  we  scramble  up  on  deck  again,  we 
find  that  it  is  only  a  brisk  sailing  breeze  we  have ;  and  the  White 
Dove  is  bowling  merrily  along,  flinging  high  the  white  spray  from 
her  bows.  And  then  we  begin  to  see  that,  despite  those  driving 
mists  around  us,  there  is  really  a  fine,  clear  summer  day  shining 
far  above  this  twopenny-halfpenny  tempest.  The  whirling  mists 
break  here  and  there,  and  we  catch  glimpses  of  a  placid  blue  sky, 
flecked  with  lines  of  motionless  cirrhus  cloud.  The  breaks  in- 
crease; floods  of  sunshine  fall  on  the  gleaming  decks;  clearer  and 
clearer  become  the  vast  precipices  of  southern  Mull ;  and  then, 
when  we  get  well  to  the  lee  of  Eilean-straid-can,  behold !  the  blue 
seas  around  us  once  more,  and  the  blue  skies  overhead,  and  the 


A    MESSAGE.  25 

red  ensign  fluttering  in  the  summer  breeze.  No  wonder  that  Mary 
Avon  sings  her  delight  —  as  a  linnet  sings  after  the  rain;  and 
though  the  song  is  not  meant  for  us  at  all,  but  is  really  hummed 
to  herself  as  she  clings  on  to  the  shrouds  and  watches  the  flash- 
ing and  dipping  of  the  white-wingod  gulls,  we  know  that  it  is  all 
about  a  jolly  young  waterman.  The  audacious  creature  :  John  of 
Skye  has  a  wife  and  four  children. 

Too  quickly,  indeed,  does  the  fair  summer  day  go  by — as  we 
pass  the  old  familiar  Duart,  and  begin  to  beat  up  the  Sound  of 
Mull  against  a  fine,  light  sailing  breeze.  B}'  the  time  we  have 
reached  Ardtornish,  the  Laird  has  acquired  some  vague  notion  as 
to  how  the  gaff  top-sail  is  set.  Opposite  the  dark  green  woods 
of  Funeray,  he  tells  us  of  the  extraordinary  faculty  possessed  by 
Tom  Galbraith  of  representing  the  texture  of  foliage.  At  Salen 
we  have  Master  Fred's  bell  summoning  us  down  to  lunch  ;  and 
thereafter,  on  deck,  coffee,  draughts,  crochet,  and  a  profoundly 
interesting  description  of  some  of  the  knotty  points  in  the  great 
Semple  heresy  case.  And  here,  again,  as  we  bear  away  over  al- 
most to  the  mouth  of  Loch  Sunart,  is  the  open  Atlantic — of  a 
breezy  gray  under  the  lemon-color  and  silver  of  the  calm  evening 
sky.  What  is  the  use  of  going  on  against  this  contrary  wind, 
and  missing,  in  the  darkness  of  the  night,  all  the  wonders  of  the 
western  islands  that  the  Laird  is  anxious  to  see  ?  We  resolve  to 
run  into  Tobermory ;  and  by-and-by  we  find  ourselves  under  the 
shadow  of  the  wooded  rocks,  with  the  little  white  town  shining 
along  the  semicircle  of  the  bay.  And  very  cleverly  indeed  does 
John  of  Skye  cut  in  among  the  various  craft — showing  off  a  little 
bit,  perhaps — until  the  White  Dove  is  brought  up  to  the  wind, 
and  the  great  anchor  cable  goes  out  with  a  roar. 

Now  it  was  by  the  merest  accident  that  we  got  at  Tobermory 
a  telegram  that  had  been  forwarded  that  very  day  to  meet  us  on 
our  return  voyage.  There  was  no  need  for  any  one  to  go  ashore, 
for  we  were  scarcely  in  port  before  a  most  praiseworthy  gentle- 
man was  so  kind  as  to  send  us  on  board  a  consignment  of  fresh 
flowers,  vegetables,  milk,  eggs,  and  so  forth — the  very  things  tliat 
become  of  inestimable  value  to  yachting  people.  However,  we 
had  two  women  on  board ;  and  of  course — despite  a  certain  ban- 
daged ankle — they  must  needs  go  shopping.  And  Mary  Avon, 
when  we  got  ashore,  would  buy  some  tobacco  for  her  favorite 
Captain  John,  and  went  into  the  post-oflice  for  that  purpose,  and 


26  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

was  having  tlie  black  stuflE  measured  out  by  tlie  yard,  when  some 
mention  was  made  of  the  White  Dove.  Then  a  question  Avas 
asked ;  there  was  a  telegram ;  it  was  handed  to  Miss  Avon,  who 
opened  it  and  read  it. 

"  Oh !"  said  she,  looking  rather  concerned ;  and  then  she  re- 
garded her  friend  with  some  little  hesitation. 

"  It  is  my  uncle,"  she  says ;  "  he  wants  to  see  me  on  very  ur- 
gent business.  He  is — coming — to  see  me — the  day  after  to- 
morrow." 

Blank  consternation  followed  this  announcement.  This  person, 
even  though  he  was  Mary  Avon's  sole  surviving  relative,  was  quite 
intolerable  to  us.  East  Wind  we  had  called  him  in  secret,  on  the 
few  occasions  on  which  he  had  darkened  our  doors.  And  just  as 
we  were  making  up  our  happy  family  party — with  the  Laird,  and 
Mary,  and  Angus  Sutherland — to  sail  away  to  the  far  Hebrides, 
here  was  this  insufferable  creature — with  his  raucous  voice,  his 
washed-out  eyes,  his  cropped  yellow-white  hair,  his  supercilious 
manner,  his  bull-dog  face,  and  general  groom  or  butler-like  ap- 
pearance— thrusting  himself  on  us  ! 

"  Well,  you  know,  Mary,"  says  her  hostess,  entirely  concealing 
her  dismay  in  her  anxious  politeness,  *'  we  shall  almost  certainly 
be  home  by  the  day  after  to-morrow,  if  we  get  any  wind  at  all. 
So  you  had  better  telegraph  to  your  uncle  to  come  on  to  Castle 
Osprey,  and  to  wait  for  you  if  you  are  not  there ;  we  cannot  be 
much  longer  than  that.  And  Angus  Sutherland  will  be  there;  he 
will  keep  him  company  until  we  arrive." 

So  that  was  done,  and  we  went  on  board  again  —  one  of  us 
meanwhile  vowing  to  himself  that  ere  ever  Mr.  Frederick  Sme- 
thurst  set  sail  with  us  on  board  the  White  Dove,  a  rifle -bullet 
through  her  hull  would  send  that  gallant  vessel  to  the  lobsters. 

Now  what  do  you  think  our  Mary  Avon  set  to  work  to  do — all 
during  this  beautiful  summer  evening,  as  we  sat  on  deck  and  eyed 
curiously  the  other  craft  in  the  bay,  or  watched  the  firs  grow  dark 
against  the  silver-yellow  twilight?  We  could  not  at  first  make 
out  what  she  was  driving  at.  Her  occupation  in  the  world,  so  far 
as  she  had  any — beyond  being  the  pleasantest  of  companions  and 
the  faithfullcst  of  friends — was  the  painting  of  landscapes  in  oil, 
not  the  construction  of  Frankenstein  monsters.  But  here  she  be- 
gins by  declaring  to  us  that  there  is  one  type  of  character  that 
has  never  been  described  by  any  satirist,  or  dramatist,  or  fictionist 


A    MESSAGE.  27 

— a  common  typo,  too,  though  only  becoming  pronounced  in  rare 
instances.  It  is  the  moral  Tartuffc,  she  declares — the  person  who 
is  through  and  through  a  hypocrite,  not  to  cloak  evil  doings,  but 
only  that  his  eager  love  of  approbation  may  be  gratified.  Look 
now  how  this  creature  of  diseased  vanity,  of  plausible  manners,  of 
pretentious  humbug,  rises  out  of  the  smoke  like  the  figure  sum- 
moned by  a  wizard's  wand !  As  she  gives  us  little  touches  here 
and  there  of  the  ways  of  this  professor  of  bonhomie — this  bundle 
of  affectations  —  we  begin  to  prefer  the  most  diabolical  villany 
that  any  thousand  of  the  really  wicked  Tartuffes  could  have  com- 
mitted. He  grows  and  grows.  His  scraps  of  learning,  as  long 
as  those  more  ignorant  than  himself  are  his  audience ;  his  mock 
humility  anxious  for  praise ;  his  parade  of  generous  and  senten- 
tious sentiment;  his  pretence — pretence  —  pretence  —  all  arising 
from  no  evil  machinations  whatever,  but  from  a  pitiable,  and  mor- 
bid, and  restless  craving  for  esteem.  Hence,  horrible  shadow  ! 
Let  us  put  out  the  candles  and  get  to  bed. 

But  next  morning,  as  we  find  ourselves  out  on  the  blue  Atlantic 
again,  with  Ru-na-Gaul  light-house  left  far  behind,  and  the  pale 
line  of  Coll  at  the  horizon,  we  begin  to  see  why  the  skill  and 
patient  assiduity  of  this  amateur  psychologist  should  have  raised 
that  ghost  for  us  the  night  before.  Her  uncle  is  coming.  He 
is  not  one  of  the  plausible  kind.  And  if  it  should  be  necessary 
to  invite  him  on  board,  might  we  not  the  more  readily  tolerate 
his  cynical  rudeness,  after  we  have  been  taught  to  abhor  as  the 
hatefullest  of  mortals  the  wxll-meaning  hypocrite  whose  vanity 
makes  his  life  a  bundle  of  small  lies  ?  Very  clever  indeed,  Miss 
Avon — very  clever.  But  don't  you  raise  any  more  ghosts ;  they 
are  unpleasant  company,  even  as  an  antidote. 

And  now,  John  of  Skye,  if  it  must  be  that  we  are  to  encounter 
this  pestilent  creature  at  the  end  of  our  voyage,  clap  on  all  sail 
now,  and  take  us  right  royally  down  through  these  far  islands  of 
the  west.  Ah  !  do  we  not  know  them  of  old  ?  Soon  as  we  get 
round  the  Cailleach  Point  we  descry  the  nearest  of  them  amidst 
the  loneliness  of  the  wide  Atlantic  sea.  For  there  is  Carnaburg, 
with  her  spur  of  rock ;  and  Fladda,  long,  and  rugged,  and  bare ; 
and  Lunga,  with  her  peak ;  and  the  Dutchman's  Cap  —  a  pale 
blue  in  the  south.  How  bravely  the  White  Dove  swings  on  her 
way — springing  like  a  bird  over  the  western  swell !  And  as  we 
get  past  Ru-Treshnish,  behold !  another  group  of  islands — Gome- 


28  M^HITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCK. 

tra  and  the  green-shored  Ulva,  that  guard  tlie  entrance  to  Loch 
Tua ;  and  Colonsay,  the  haunt  of  the  sea-birds ;  and  the  rock  of 
Erisgeir — all  shining  in  the  sun.  And  then  we  hear  a  strange 
sound,  different  from  the  light  rush  of  the  waves  —  a  low,  and 
sullen,  and  distant  booming,  such  as  one  hears  in  a  sea-shell.  As 
the  White  Dove  ploughs  on  her  way  we  come  nearer  and  nearer 
to  this  wonder  of  the  deep — the  ribbed  and  fantastic  shores  of 
Staffa;  and  we  see  how  the  great  Atlantic  rollers,  making  for  the 
giant  cliffs  of  Gribun  and  Burg,  are  caught  by  those  outer  rocks 
and  torn  into  masses  of  white  foam,  and  sent  roaring  and  thunder- 
ing into  the  blackness  of  the  caves.  We  pass  close  by ;  the  air 
trembles  with  the  shock  of  that  mighty  surge ;  there  is  a  mist  of 
spray  rising  into  the  summer  air.  And  then  we  sail  away  again ; 
and  the  day  wears  on  as  the  white-winged  White  Dove  bounds 
over  the  heavy  seas ;  and  Mary  Avon — as  we  draw  near  the  Ross 
of  Mull,  all  glowing  in  the  golden  evening — is  singing  a  song  of 
Ulva. 

But  there  is  no  time  for  romance,  as  the  White  Dove  (draw- 
ing eight  feet  of  water)  makes  in  for  the  shallow  harbor  outside 
Bunessan. 

"  Down  foresail !"  calls  out  our  John  of  Skye ;  and  by-and-by 
her  head  comes  up  to  the  wind,  the  great  main-sail  flapping  in 
the  breeze.  And  again,  "  Down  chub,  boys !"  and  there  is  an- 
other rattle  and  roar  amidst  the  silence  of  this  solitary  little  bay. 
The  herons  croak  their  fright  and  fly  away  on  heavy  wing;  the 
curlews  whistle  shrilly;  the  sea-pyots  whir  along  the  lonely 
shores.  And  then  our  good  Friedrich  d'or  sounds  his  silver- 
toned  bell. 

The  stillness  of  this  summer  evening  on  deck ;  tlie  glory  deep- 
ening over  the  wide  Atlantic ;  the  delightful  laughter  of  the 
Laird  over  those  "  good  ones  "  about  Iloincsh ;  the  sympathetic 
glance  of  Mary  Avon's  soft  black  eyes:  did  we  not  value  them 
all  the  more  that  we  knew  we  liad  something  far  different  to 
look  forward  to  ?  Even  as  we  idled  away  the  beautiful  and 
lambent  night,  we  had  a  vague  consciousness  that  our  enemy  was 
stealthily  drawing  near.  In  a  day  or  two  at  the  most  we  should 
find  the  grim  spectre  of  the  East  Wind  in  the  rose-garden  of 
Castle  Osprey. 


A    BRAVE    CAREER.  29 


CHAPTER  V. 

A     BRAVE     CAREER. 

But  when  we  got  on  deck  tlie  next  morning  we  forgot  all 
about  the  detestable  person  who  was  about  to  break  in  upon 
our  peace  (there  was  small  chance  that  our  faithful  Angus 
Sutherland  might  encounter  the  snake  in  this  summer  paradise, 
and  trample  on  him,  and  pitch  him  out ;  for  this  easy  way  of 
getting  rid  of  disagreeable  folk  is  not  permitted  in  the  High- 
lands nowadays)  as  we  looked  on  the  beautiful  bay  shining  all 
around  us. 

"  Dear  me  !"  said  Denny-mains,  "  if  Tom  Galbraith  could  only 
see  that  now  !  It  is  a  great  peety  he  has  never  been  to  this 
coast.     I'm  thinking  I  must  write  to  him." 

The  Laird  did  not  remember  that  we  had  an  artist  on  board — 
one  who,  if  she  was  not  so  great  an  artist  as  Mr.  Galbraith,  had 
at  least  exhibited  one  or  two  small  landscapes  in  oil  at  the  Royal 
Academy.  But  then  the  Academicians,  though  they  might  dread 
the  contrast  between  their  own  work  and  that  of  Tom  Galbraith, 
could  have  no  fear  of  Mary  Avon. 

And  even  Mr.  Galbraith  himself  might  have  been  puzzled  to 
find  among  his  pigments  any  equivalent  for  the  rare  and  clear 
colors  of  this  morning  scene  as  now  we  sailed  away  from  Bunes- 
san  with  a  light  top-sail  breeze.  How  blue  the  day  was — blue 
skies,  blue  seas,  a  faint  transparent  blue  along  the  cliffs  of 
Bourg  and  Gribun,  a  darker  blue  where  the  far  Ru-Treshanish 
ran  out  into  the  sea,  a  shadow  of  blue  to  mark  where  the  caves 
of  Staffa  retreated  from  the  surface  of  the  sun -brown  rocks! 
And  here,  nearer  at  hand,  the  warmer  colors  of  the  shore — the 
soft,  velvety  olive-greens  of  the  moss  and  breckan ;  the  splashes 
of  lilac  where  the  rocks  were  bare  of  herbage  ;  the  tender  sunny 
reds  where  the  granite  promontories  ran  out  to  the  sea  ;  the 
beautiful  cream  whites  of  the  sandy  bays  !  Here,  too,  are  the 
islands  again  as  we  get  out  into  the  open — Gometra,  with  its  one 
white  house  at  the  point ;  and  Inch  Kenneth,  where  the  seals 


30  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

stow  their  shining  black  heads  among  the  shallows ;  and  Eris- 
geii"  and  Colonsay,  where  the  skarts  alight  to  dry  their  wings  on 
the  rocks ;  and  Stafia,  and  Lunga,  and  the  Dutchman  lying 
peaceful  enough  now  on  the  calm  blue  seas.  We  have  time  to 
look  at  them,  for  the  wind  is  slight,  and  the  broad -beamed 
White  Dove  is  not  a  quick  sailer  in  a  light  breeze.  The  best 
part  of  the  forenoon  is  over  before  we  find  ourselves  opposite  to 
the  gleaming  white  sands  of  the  northern  bays  of  lona. 

"But  surely  both  of  us  together  will  be  able  to  make  him 
stay  longer  than  ten  days,"  says  the  elder  of  the  two  women  to 
the  younger-^ and  you  may  be  sure  she  was  not  speaking  of 
East  Wind. 

Mary  Avon  looks  up  with  a  start;  then  looks  down  again — 
perhaps  with  the  least  touch  of  color  in  her  face — as  she  says, 
hurriedly,  "  Oh,  I  think  you  will.  He  is  your  friend.  As  for 
me — you  see — I — I  scarcely  know  him." 

"  Oh,  Mary  !"  says  the  other,  reproachfully.  "  You  have  been 
meeting  him  constantly  all  these  two  months  :  you  must  know 
him  better  than  any  of  us.  I  am  sure  I  wish  he  was  on  board 
now — he  could  tell  us  all  about  the  geology  of  the  islands,  and 
what  not.  It  will  be  delightful  to  have  somebody  on  board  who 
knows  something." 

Such  is  the  gratitude  of  women!  —  and  the  Laird  had  just 
been  describing  to  her  some  further  points  of  the  famous  heresy 
case. 

"And  then  he  knows  Gaelic!"  says  the  elder  woman.  "He 
will  tell  us  what  all  the  names  of  the  islands  moan." 

"  Oh  yes,"  says  the  younger  one,  "  he  understands  Gaelic  very 
well,  though  he  cannot  speak  much  of  it." 

"And  I  think  he  is  very  fond  of  boats,"  remarks  our  hostess. 

"Oh,  exceedingly — exceedingly!"  says  the  other,  who,  if  she 
does  not  know  Angus  .Sutherland,  seems  to  have  picked  up  some 
information  about  him  somehow.  "  You  cannot  imagine  how  he 
has  been  looking  forward  to  sailing  with  you;  he  has  scarcely 
had  any  holiday  for  years." 

"Then  he  must  stay  longer  than  ten  days,"  says  the  elder 
woman  ;  adding,  with  a  smile,  "  you  know,  Mary,  it  is  not  the 
number  of  his  patients  that  will  hurry  him  back  to  London." 

"  Oh,  but  I  assure  you,"  says  Miss  Avon,  seriously,  "  that  he 
is  not  at  all  anxious  to  have  many  patients — as  yet.     Oh  no — I 


A    BRAVE    CAREER.  31 

never  knew  any  one  wlio  was  so  indifferent  about  money.  I 
know  he  would  live  on  bread  and  water — if  that  were  necessary 
— to  go  on  with  his  researches.  He  told  me  himself  that  all  the 
time  he  was  at  Leipsic  his  expenses  were  never  more  than  one 
pound  a  week." 

She  seemed  to  know  a  good  deal  about  the  circumstances  of 
this  young  F.R.S. 

"  Look  at  what  he  has  done  with  those  ana3sthetics,"  continues 
Miss  Avon.  "  Isn't  it  better  to  find  out  something  that  does 
good  to  the  whole  world  than  give  yourself  up  to  making  money 
by  wheedling  a  lot  of  old  women  ?" 

This  estimate  of  the  physician's  art  was  not  flattering. 

"  But,"  she  says,  warmly,  "  if  the  Government  had  any  sense, 
that  is  just  the  sort  of  man  they  would  put  in  a  position  to  go 
on  with  his  invaluable  work.  And  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  with 
all  their  wealth,  they  scarcely  even  recognize  the  noblest  profes- 
sion that  a  man  can  devote  himself  to  —  when  even  the  poor 
Scotch  universities  and  the  universities  all  over  Europe  have  al- 
ways had  their  medical  and  scientific  chairs.  I  think  it  is  per- 
fectly disgraceful." 

Since  when  had  she  become  so  strenuous  an  advocate  of  the 
endowment  of  research  ? 

"  Why,  look  at  Dr.  Sutherland — when  he  is  burning  to  get  on 
with  his  own  proper  work,  when  his  name  is  beginning  to  be 
known  all  over  Europe — he  has  to  fritter  away  his  time  in  edit- 
ing a  scientific  magazine  and  in  those  hospital  lectures.  And 
that,  I  suppose,  is  barely  enough  to  live  on.  But  I  know,"  she 
says,  with  decision,  "that  in  spite  of  everything  —  I  know  that 
before  he  is  five-and-thirty  he  will  be  President  of  the  British 
Association." 

Here,  indeed,  is  a  brave  career  for  the  Scotch  student :  cannot 
one  complete  the  sketch  as  it  roughly  exists  in  the  minds  of 
those  two  women  ? 

At  twenty-one,  B.M.  of  Edinburgh. 

At  twenty-six,  F.R.S. 

At  thirty,  Professor  of  Biology  at  Oxford :  the  chair  founded 
through  the  intercession  of  the  women  of  Great  Britain. 

At  thirty-five,  President  of  the  British  Association. 

At  forty,  a  baronetcy,  for  further  discoveries  in  the  region  of 
anaesthetics. 


32  AvniTE  WINGS :    a  yachting  romance. 

At  forty -five,  consulting  physician  to  half  the  gouty  gentle- 
men of  England,  and  amassing  an  immense  fortune. 
At  fifty- 
Well,  at  fifty,  is  it  not  time  that  "  the  poor  Scotch  student," 
now  become  great  and  Jamous  and  wealthy,  should  look  around 
for  some  beautiful  princess  to  share  his  high  estate  with  him  ? 
He  has  not  had  time  before  to  think  of  such  matters.  But  what 
is  this  now  ?  Is  it  that  microscopes  and  test-tubes  have  dimmed 
his  eyes?  Is  it  that  honors  and  responsibilities  have  silvered  his 
hair?  Or  is  the  drinking  deep  of  the  Pactolus  stream  a  deadly 
poison  ?  There  is  no  beautiful  princess  awaiting  him  anywhere. 
He  is  alone  among  his  honors.  There  was  once  a  beautiful  prin- 
cess— beautiful-souled  and  tender-eyed,  if  not  otherwise  too  love- 
ly—  awaiting  him  among  the  Western  seas;  but  that  time  is 
over  and  gone  man}'^  a  year  ago.  The  opportunity  has  passed. 
Ambition  called  him  away,  and  he  left  her ;  and  the  last  he  saw 
of  her  was  when  he  bade  good-bye  to  the  White  Dove. 

AVhat  have  we  to  do  with  these  idle  dreams  ?  We  are  getting 
within  sight  of  lona  village  now ;  and  the  sun  is  shining  on  the 
green  shores,  and  on  the  ruins  of  the  old  cathedral,  and  on  that 
white  house  just  above  the  cornfield.*  And  as  there  is  no  good 
anchorage  about  the  island,  we  have  to  make  in  for  a  little  creek 
on  the  Mull  side  of  the  Sound,  called  Polterriv,  or  the  Bull-hole ; 
and  this  creek  is  narrow,  tortuous,  and  shalloAv ;  and  a  yacht 
drawing  eight  feet  of  water  has  to  be  guided  with  some  circum- 
spection, especially  if  you  go  up  to  the  inner  harbor  above  the 
rock  called  the  Little  Bull.  And  so  we  make  inquiries  of  John 
of  Skye,  who  has  not  been  with  us  here  before.  It  is  even  hint- 
ed that  if  he  is  not  quite  sure  of  the  channel,  we  might  send 
the  gig  over  to  lona  for  John  Macdonald,  who  is  an  excellent 
pilot. 

"John  Macdonald!"  exclaims  John  of  Skye,  whose  professional 
pride  has  been  wounded.  "Will  John  Macdonald  be  doing  any- 
thing more  than  I  wass  do  myself  in  the  Bull-hole — ay,  last  year 
— last  year  I  will  tek  my  own  smack  out  of  the  Bull-hole  at  the 


*  How  do  you  do,  captain?  And  is  the  deck-liouse  still  in  the  garden, 
and  do  you  sleep  on  board  when  you  slei'p  ashore?  And  the  charming 
young  hostess,  too:  has  she  got  a  spirit  license  yet  from  the  Duke?  We 
wave  a  handkerchief  to  vou  ! 


A    BRAVE    CAREER.  33 

norse  end,  and  ferry  near  low  water,  too ;  and  her  deep-loaded? 
Oh  yes,  I  will  be  knowing  the  Bull-hole  this  many  a  year." 

And  John  of  Skye  is  as  good  as  his  word.  Favored  by  a 
flood-tide,  -we  steal  gently  into  the  unfrequented  creek,  behind 
the  great  rocks  of  red  granite;  and  so  extraordinarily  clear  is 
the  water  that,  standing  upright  on  the  deck,  we  can  see  the 
white  sand  of  the  bottom,  with  shoals  of  young  saithc  darting 
this  way  and  that.  And  then  just  as  we  get  opposite  an  opening 
in  the  rocks,  through  which  we  can  descry  the  northern  shores  of 
lona,  and  above  those  the  blue  peak  of  the  Dutchman,  away  goes 
the  anchor  with  a  short,  quick  rush ;  her  head  swings  round  to 
meet  the  tide;  the  White  Dove  is  safe  from  all  the  winds  that 
blow.  Now  lower  away  the  gig,  boys,  and  bear  us  over  the  blue 
waters  of  the  Sound  ! 

"I  am  really  afraid  to  begin,"  Mary  Avon  says,  as  we  remon- 
strate with  her  for  not  having  touched  a  color -tube  since  she 
started.  "  Besides,  you  know,  I  scarcely  look  on  it  that  we  have 
really  set  out  yet.  This  is  only  a  sort  of  shaking  ourselves  into 
our  places.  I  am  only  getting  accustomed  to  the  ways  of  our 
cabin  now.  I  shall  scarcely  consider  that  we  have  started  on  our 
real  voyaging  until — " 

Oh  yes !  we  know  very  well.  Until  we  have  got  Angus  Suther- 
land on  board.    But  what  she  really  said  was,  after  slight  hesitation : 

"  — Until  we  set  out  for  the  Northern  Hebrides." 

"  Ay,  it's  a  good  thing  to  feel  nervous  about  beginning,"  says 
the  Laird,  as  the  long  sweep  of  the  four  oars  brings  us  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  lona  shores.  "  I  have  often  heard  Tom  Gal- 
braith  say  that  to  the  younger  men.  He  says  if  a  young  man  is 
over-confident  he'll  come  to  nothing.  But  there  was  a  good  one 
I  once  heard  Galbraith  tell  about  a  young  man  that  was  pentin  at 
Tarbert — that's  Tarbert  on  Loch  Fyne,  Miss  Avon.  Ay,  well,  he 
was  pentin  away,  and  he  was  putting  in  the  young  lass  of  the 
house  as  a  fisher-lass ;  and  he  asked  her  if  she  could  not  get  a 
creel  to  strap  on  her  back,  as  a  background  for  her  head,  ye  know. 
Well,  says  she — " 

Here  the  fierce  humor  of  the  story  began  to  bubble  up  in  the 
Laird's  blue-gray  eyes.  We  were  all  half  laughing  already.  It 
was  impossible  to  resist  the  glow  of  delight  on  the  Laird's  face, 

"  Says  she — just  as  pat  as  ninepence — says  she,  '  It's  your  ain 
head  that  wants  a  creel !' " 


34  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTINa    ROMANCE. 

The  explosion  was  inevitable.  The  roar  of  laughter  at  this 
good  one  was  so  infectious  that  a  subdued  smile  played  over  the 
rugged  features  of  John  of  Skje.  "  '  Ifs  your  ain  head  that  wants 
a  creel  P"  The  Laird  laughed,  and  laughed  again,  until  the  last 
desperately  suppressed  sounds  were  something  like  kee  !  kee  !  kee  ! 
Even  Mary  Avon  pretended  to  understand. 

"  There  was  a  real  good  one,"  says  he,  obviously  overjoyed  to 
have  so  appreciative  an  audience,  "  that  I  mind  of  reading  in  the 
Dean's  Reminiscences.  It  was  about  an  old  leddy  in  Edinburgh 
who  met  in  a  shop  a  young  officer  she  had  seen  before.  He  was 
a  tall  young  man,  and  she  eyed  him  from  head  to  heel,  and  says 
she — ha  !  ha ! — says  she, '  Od,  ye' re  a  lang  lad  :  God  gie  ye  grace.'' 
Dry,  very  dry,  wasn't  it?  There  was  real  humor  in  that  —  a 
pawky  humor  that  people  in  the  South  cannot  understand  at  all. 
'Of/,'  says  she,  ''ye're  a  lang  lad:  God  grant  ye  grace.''  There 
was  a  great  dale  of  character  in  that." 

We  were  sure  of  it;  but  still  we  preferred  the  Laird's  stories 
about  Ilomesh.  We  invariably  liked  best  the  stories  at  which 
the  Laird  laughed  most,  whether  wc  quitic  understood  their  pawky 
humor  or  not. 

"  Dr.  Sutherland  has  a  great  many  stories  about  the  Highland- 
ers," says  Miss  Avon,  timidly  :  "they  are  very  amusing." 

"As  far  as  I  have  observed,"  remarked  the  Laird  —  for  how 
could  he  relish  the  notion  of  having  a  rival  anecdote-monger  on 
board?  —  "as  far  as  I  have  observed,  the  Highland  character  is 
entirely  without  humor.  Ay,  I  have  heard  Tom  Galbraith  say 
that  very  often,  and  he  has  been  everywhere  in  the  Highlands." 

"  Well,  then,"  says  Mary  Avon,  with  a  quick  warmth  of  indig- 
nation in  her  face — how  rapidly  those  soft  dark  eyes  could  change 
their  expression  !  —  "I  hope  Mr.  Galbraith  knows  more  about 
painting  than  he  knows  about  the  Highlanders !  I  thought  that 
anybody  wlio  knows  anything  knows  that  the  Celtic  nature  is  full 
of  imagination,  and  humor,  and  j)ath()s,  and  poetry  ;  and  the  Saxon 
— the  Saxon  ! — it  is  his  business  to  plod  over  ploughed  fields,  and 
be  as  dull  and  commonplace  as  the  other  animals  he  sees  there !" 

Gracious  goodness!  —  here  was  a  tempest!  The  Laird  was 
speechless ;  for,  indeed,  at  this  moment  we  bumped  against  the 
sacred  shores — that  is  to  say,  the  landing-slip  of  Tona — and  had 
to  scramble  on  to  the  big  stones.  Then  we  walked  up  and  past 
the  cottages,  and  through  the  potato  field,  and  past  the  white  inn, 


A  BRAVE  CAREER.  35 

and  so  to  the  hallowed  shrine  and  its  graves  of  the  kings.  AVe 
spent  the  whole  of  the  afternoon  there. 

When  we  got  back  to  the  yacht  and  to  dinner,  we  discovered 
that  a  friend  had  visited  us  in  our  absence,  and  had  left  of  his 
largesse  behind  him — nasturtiums  and  yellow-and-white  pansies, 
and  what  not — to  say  nothing  of  fresh  milk,  and  crisp,  delightful 
lettuce.     We  drank  his  health. 

Was  it  the  fear  of  some  one  breaking  in  on  our  domestic  peace 
that  made  that  last  evening  among  the  Western  islands  so  lovely 
to  us  ?  We  went  out  in  the  gig  after  dinner ;  the  Laird  put  forth 
his  engines  of  destruction  to  encompass  the  innocent  lythe ;  we 
heard  him  humming  the  "  Haughs  o'  Cromdale"  in  the  silence. 
The  wonderful  glory  of  that  evening ! — lona  become  an  intense 
olive-green  against  the  gold  and  crimson  of  the  sunset,  the  warm 
flight  shining  along  the  red  granite  of  western  Mull.  Then  the 
yellow  moon  rose  in  the  south — into  the  calm  violet-hued  vault 
of  the  heavens ;  and  there  was  a  golden  fire  on  the  ripples  and 
on  the  wet  blades  of  the  oars  as  we  rowed  back  with  laughter 

and  singing. 

"Sing  tantara!  singtautara! 
Sing  tantara !  sing  tantara  ! 

Said  he,  the  Highland  army  rues 
That  e'er  they  came  to  Cromdale  1" 

And  then,  next  morning,  we  were  up  at  five  o'clock.  If  we 
were  going  to  have  a  tooth  pulled,  why  not  have  the  little  inter- 
view over  at  once  ?  East  W' ind  would  be  waiting  for  us  at  Cas- 
tle Osprey. 

Blow,  soft  westerly  breeze,  then,  and  bear  us  down  by  Fion- 
phort,  and  round  the  granite  Ross — shining  all  a  pale  red  in  the 
early  dawn.  And  here  is  Ardalanish  Point ;  and  there,  as  the 
morning  goes  by,  are  the  Carsaig  arches,  and  then  Loch  Buy,  and 
finally  the  blue  Firth  of  Lorn.  Northward,  now,  and  still  north- 
ward, until,  far  away,  the  white  house  shining  amidst  the  firs,  and 
the  flag  fluttering  in  the  summer  air.  Have  they  descried  us, 
then  ?  Or  is  the  bunting  hoisted  in  honor  of  guests  ?  The  pale 
cheek  of  Mary  Avon  tells  a  tale  as  she  descries  that  far  signal ; 
but  that  is  no  business  of  ours.  Perhaps  it  is  only  of  her  uncle 
that  she  is  thinking. 


30  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    KOMANCE. 


CHAPTER  VL 


Behold,  now  !  tliis  beautiful  garden  of  Castle  Osprey  all  ablaze 
in  tbe  sun ;  the  roses,  pausies,  poppies,  and  what  not  bewildering 
our  eyes  after  the  loug  looking  at  the  blue  water ;  and  in  the 
midst  of  the  brilliant  paradise — just  as  we  had  feared — the  snake  ! 
He  did  not  scurry  away  at  our  approach,  as  snakes  are  wont  to 
do,  or  raise  his  horrent  head  and  hiss.  The  fact  is,  we  found  him 
comfortably  seated  under  a  drooping  ash,  smoking.  He  rose  and 
explained  that  he  had  strolled  up  from  the  shore  to  await  our 
coming.  He  did  not  seem  to  notice  that  Mary  Avon,  as  she 
came  along,  had  to  walk  slowly,  and  was  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
the  Laird. 

Certainly  nature  had  not  been  bountiful  to  this  tall,  spare  per- 
son who  had  now  come  among  us.  At  first  sight  he  looked  al- 
most like  an  albino  —  his  yellow-white,  closely  cropped  head,  a 
certain  raw  appearance  of  the  face,  as  if  perpetual  east  winds  had 
chafed  the  skin,  and  weak  gray  eyes  that  seemed  to  fear  the  light. 
But  the  albino  look  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  pugilist's  jaw, 
and  the  broken  nose,  and  the  general  hangdog  scowl  about  the 
mouth.  For  the  rest  Mr.  Sinethurst  seemed  desirous  of  making 
up  for  those  unpleasant  features  which  nature  had  bestowed  upon 
him  by  a  studied  air  of  self-possession,  and  by  an  extreme  preci- 
sion of  dress.  Alack  and  well-a-day  !  these  laudable  efforts  were 
of  little  avail.  Nature  was  too  strong  for  him.  The  assumption 
of  a  languid  and  indifferent  air  was  not  quite  in  consonance  with 
the  ferrety  gray  eyes ;  the  precision  of  his  costume  only  gave 
him  the  look  of  a  well-dressed  groom,  or  a  butler  gone  on  the 
turf.  There  was  not  much  grateful  to  the  sight  about  Mr.  Fred- 
crick  Smethurst. 

liut  were  we  to  hate  the  man  for  being  ugly  ?  Despite  liis  raw 
face,  he  might  have -the  white  soul  of  an  angel.  And  in  fact  we 
knew  absolutely  nothing  against  his  private  character  or  private 
reputation,  except  that  he  had  been  blackballed  at  a  London  club 


"  BROSE."  37 

in  by-gone  days ;  and  even  of  that  little  circumstance  our  women- 
folk were  not  aware.  However,  there  was  no  doubt  at  all  that  a 
certain  coldness — apparent  to  us  who  knew  her  well — character- 
ized the  manner  of  this  small  lady  who  now  went  up  and  shook 
hands  with  him,  and  dcchu-ed — unblushingly — that  she  was  so 
glad  he  had  run  up  to  the  Highlands. 

"And  you  know,"  said  she,  with  that  charming  politeness 
which  she  would  show  to  the  archfiend  himself  if  he  were  prop- 
erly introduced  to  her — "  you  know,  Mr.  Smethurst,  that  yacht- 
ing is  such  an  uncertain  thing,  one  never  knows  when  one  may 
get  back ;  but  if  you  could  spare  a  few  days  to  take  a  run  with 
us,  you  would  see  what  a  capital  mariner  Mary  has  become,  and  I 
am  sure  it  would  be  a  great  pleasure  to  us." 

These  were  actually  her  words.  She  uttered  them  without 
the  least  tremor  of  hesitation.  She  looked  him  straight  in  the 
face  with  those  clear,  innocent,  confiding  eyes  of  hers.  How 
could  the  man  tell  that  she  was  wishing  him  at  Jericho  ? 

And  it  was  in  silence  that  we  waited  to  hear  our  doom  pro- 
nounced. A  yachting  trip  with  this  intolerable  Jonah  on  board ! 
The  sunlight  went  out  of  the  day ;  the  blue  went  out  of  the  sky 
and  the  seas ;  the  world  was  filled  with  gloom,  and  chaos,  and 
East  Wind. 

Imagine,  then,  the  sudden  joy  with  which  we  heard  of  our 
deliverance !  Surely  it  was  not  the  raucous  voice  of  Frederick 
Smethurst,  but  a  sound  of  sunmier  bells. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  he  said,  in  his  affectedly  indifferent  waj''. 
"  But  the  fact  is,  I  have  run  up  to  see  Mary  only  on  a  little  mat- 
ter of  business,  and  I  must  get  back  at  once.  Indeed,  I  purpose 
leaving  by  the  Dalmally  coach  in  the  afternoon.  Thank  you 
very  much,  though ;  perhaps  some  other  time  I  may  be  more 
fortunate." 

How  we  had  wronged  this  poor  man !  We  hated  him  no 
longer.  On  the  contrary,  great  grief  was  expressed  over  his 
departure ;  and  he  was  begged  at  least  to  stay  that  one  evening. 
No  doubt  he  had  heard  of  Dr.  Angus  Sutherland,  who  had  made 
such  discoveries  in  the  use  of  anaesthetics  ?  Dr.  Sutherland  was 
coming  by  the  afternoon  steamer.  Would  not  he  stay  and  meet 
him  at  dinner  ? 

Our  tears  broke  out  afresh — metaphorically — when  East  Wind 
persisted  in  his  intention  of  departure ;  but  of  course  compulsion 


38  WHITE  WINGS :    a  yachting  romance. 

was  out  of  the  question.  And  so  we  allowed  liira  to  go  into  the 
house  to  have  that  business  interview  with  his  niece. 

"A  poor  crayture  !"  remarked  the  Laird,  confidently,  forgetting 
that  he  was  talking  of  a  friend  of  ours.  "  Why  does  he  not 
speak  out  like  a  man,  instead  of  drawling  and  dawdling?  His 
accent  is  jist  insufferable." 

"And  what  business  can  he  have  with  Mary?"  says  our  sover- 
eign lady,  sharply — just  as  if  a  man  with  a  raw  skin  and  yellow- 
white  hair  must  necessarily  be  a  pick-pocket.  "He  was  the 
trustee  of  that  little  fortune  of  hers,  I  know ;  but  that  is  all  over. 
She  got  the  money  when  she  came  of  age.  What  can  he  want 
to  see  her  about  now  ?" 

We  concerned  ourselves  not  with  that.  It  was  enough  for  us 
that  the  snake  was  about  to  retreat  from  our  summer  paradise  of 
his  own  free-will  and  pleasure.  And  Angus  Sutlierland  was  com- 
ing, and  the  provisioning  of  the  yacht  had  to  be  seen  to ;  for  to- 
morrow— to-morrow  we  spread  our  white  wings  again,  and  take 
flight  to  the  far  north. 

Never  was  parting  guest  so  warmly  speeded.  We  concealed 
our  tears  as  the  coacli  rolled  away.  We  waved  a  hand  to  him. 
And  then,  when  it  was  suggested  that  the  wagonette  that  liad 
brought  Mary  Avon  down  from  Castle  Osprey  might  just  as  well 
go  along  to  the  quay — for  the  steamer  bringing  Angus  Sutlier- 
land would  be  in  shortly — and  when  we  actually  did  set  out  in 
that  direction,  there  was  so  little  grief  on  our  faces  that  you  could 
not  have  told  we  had  been  bidding  farewell  to  a  valued  friend 
and  relative. 

Now,  if  our  good-hcartcd  Laird  had  had  a  grain  of  jealousy  in 
his  nature,  he  might  well  have  resented  the  manner  in  which 
these  two  women  spoke  of  the  approaching  guest.  In  their  talk 
the  word  "  he  "  meant  only  one  person.  "  He  "  was  sure  to  come 
by  this  steamer.  "lie"  was  so  punctual  in  his  engagements. 
AVould  he  bring  a  gun  or  a  rod ;  or  would  the  sailing  be  enough 
amusement  for  him  ?  What  a  capital  thing  it  was  for  liim  to  be 
able  to  take  an  interest  in  some  such  out-of-door  exercise,  as  a 
distraction  to  the  mind  !  And  so  forth,  and  so  forth.  The  Laird 
lieard  all  this,  and  his  expectations  were  no  doubt  rising  and  ris- 
ing. Forgetful  of  his  disappointment  on  first  seeing  Mary  Avon, 
he  was  in  all  likelihood  creating  an  imaginary  figure  of  Angus 
Sutherland — and,  of  course,  tliis  marvel  of  erudition  and  intel- 


"  BROSE.  39 

lectual  power  must  be  a  tall,  wan,  pale  person,  with  the  travail  of 
thinking  written  in  lines  across  the  spacious  brow.  The  Laird 
was  not  aware  that  for  many  a  day  after  we  first  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  the  young  Scotch  stndcnt  he  was  generally  referred 
to  in  our  private  conversation  as  "  Brosc." 

And,  indeed,  the  Laird  did  stare  considerably  when  he  saw — 
elbowing  his  way  through  the  crowd,  and  making  for  us  with  a 
laugh  of  welcome  on  the  fresh  -  colored  face  —  a  stout -set,  mus- 
cular, blue-eyed,  sandy-haired,  good-humored-looking,  youngish 
man,  who,  instead  of  having  anything  Celtic  about  his  appear- 
ance, might  have  been  taken  for  the  son  of  a  south -country 
farmer.  "  Brose  "  was  carrying  his  own  portmanteau,  and  stur- 
dily shoving  his  way  through  the  porters  who  would  fain  have 
seized  it. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Angus,"  said  our  queen  -  regent,  hold- 
ing out  her  hand;  and  there  was  no  ceremonial  politeness  in  that 
reception — but  you  should  have  seen  the  look  in  her  eyes. 

Then  he  went  on  to  the  wagonette. 

"  How  do  you  do.  Miss  Avon  ?"  said  he,  quite  timidly,  like  a 
school-boy.  He  scarcely  glanced  up  at  her  face,  which  was  re- 
garding him  with  a  very  pleasant  welcome;  he  seemed  relieved 
when  he  had  to  turn  and  seize  his  portmanteau  again.  Know- 
ing that  he  was  rather  fond  of  driving,  our  mistress  and  admiral- 
in-chief  offered  him  the  reins,  but  he  declined  the  honor ;  Mary 
Avon  was  sitting  in  front.  "  Oh  no,  thank  you,"  said  he,  quite 
hastily,  and  with  something  uncommonly  like  a  blush.  The 
Laird,  if  he  had  been  entertaining  any  feeling  of  jealousy,  must 
have  been  reassured,  "  Brose "  was  no  formidable  rival.  He 
spoke  very  little — he  only  listened — as  we  drove  away  to  Castle 
Osprey.  Mary  Avon  was  chatting  briskly  and  cheerfully,  and 
it  was  to  the  Laird  that  she  addressed  that  running  fire  of  non- 
sense and  merry  laughter. 

But  the  young  doctor  was  greatly  concerned  when,  on  our 
arrival  at  Castle  Osprey,  he  saw  iSLiry  Avon  helped  down  with 
much  care,  and  heard  the  story  of  the  sprain. 

"  Who  bandages  your  ankle  ?"  said  he  at  once,  and  without 
any  shyness  now. 

"  I  do  it  myself,"  said  she,  cheerfully.  "  I  can  do  it  well 
enough." 

"  Oh  no,  you  cannot !"  said  he,  abruptly ;   "  a  person  stoop- 


40  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

ing  cannot.  The  bandage  should  be  as  tiglit  and  as  smooth  as 
the  skin  of  a  drum.  You  must  let  some  one  else  do  that  for 
you." 

And  he  was  disposed  to  resent  this  walking  about  in  the  gar- 
den before  dinner.  What  business  had  she  to  trifle  with  such 
a  serious  matter  as  a  sprain  ?  And  a  sprain  which  was  the  re- 
call of  an  older  sprain.  "  Did  she  wish  to  be  lame  for  life  ?" 
he  asked,  sharply. 

Mary  Avon  laughed,  and  said  that  worse  things  than  that  had 
befallen  people.  He  asked  her  whether  she  found  any  pleasure 
in  voluntary  martyrdom.  She  blushed  a  little,  and  turned  to  the 
Laird. 

The  Laird  was  at  this  moment  laying  before  us  the  details  of 
a  most  gigantic  scheme.  It  appeared  that  the  inhabitants  of 
Strathgovan,  not  content  with  a  steam  fire-engine,  were  talking 
about  having  a  public  park — actually  proposing  to  have  a  public 
park,  with  beds  of  flowers,  and  iron  seats  ;  and,  to  crown  all,  a 
gymnasium,  where  the  youths  of  the  neighborhood  might  twirl 
themselves  ou  the  gay  trapeze  to  their  hearts'  content.  And 
where  the  subscriptions  were  to  come  from,  and  what  were  the 
hardiest  plants  for  borders,  and  whether  the  gymnasium  should 
be  furnished  with  ropes  or  with  chains  —  these  matters  were 
weighing  heavily  on  the  mind  of  our  good  friend  of  Denny- 
mains.  Angus  Sutherland  relapsed  into  silence,  and  gazed  ab- 
sently at  a  tree-fuchsia  that  stood  by. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  plant,  is  it  not  ?"  said  a  voice  beside  him — 
that  of  our  empress  and  liege  lady. 

He  started. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  said,  cheerfully.  "  I  was  thinking  I  should  like 
to  live  the  life  of  a  tree  like  that,  dying  in  the  winter,  you  know, 
and  being  quite  impervious  to  frost  and  snow  and  hard  weather ; 
and  then,  as  soon  as  the  fine  warm  spring  and  summer  came 
round,  coming  to  life  again  and  spreading  yourself  out  to  feel 
all  the  sunlight  and  the  warm  winds.  That  must  be  a  capital 
life." 

"  But  do  you  really  think  they  can  feel  that  ?  Why,  you 
must  believe  that  those  trees  and  flowers  are  alive  !" 

"  Docs  anybody  doubt  it  ?"  said  he,  quite  simply.  "  They  arc 
certainly  aUvc.     Why — " 

And  here  he  bctliought  himself  for  a  moment. 


"  BROSE."  41 

"  If  I  only  had  a  good  microscope  now,"  said  Lc,  eagerly,  "  I 
would  show  you  the  life  of  a  plant  directly — in  every  cell  of  it : 
did  you  never  see  the  constant  life  in  each  cell,  the  motion  of 
the  chlorophyl  granules  circling  and  circling  night  and  day  ? 
Did  no  one  ever  show  you  that  ?'' 

Well,  no  one  had  ever  shown  us  that.  We  may  now  and 
again  have  entertained  angels  unawares  ;  but  we  were  not  always 
stumbling  against  Fellows  of  the  Royal  Society. 

"  Then  I  must  borrow  one  somewhere,"  said  he,  decisively,  "  and 
show  you  the  secret  life  of  even  the  humblest  plant  that  exists. 
And  then  look  what  a  long  life  it  is,  in  the  case  of  the  perennial 
plants.  Did  you  ever  think  of  that?  Those  great  trees  in  the 
Yoseraite  Valley — they  were  alive  and  feeling  the  warm  sunlight 
and  the  winds  about  them  when  Alfred  was  hiding  in  the  marshes  ; 
and  they  were  living  the  same  undisturbed  life  when  Charles  the 
First  had  his  head  chopped  off;  and  they  were  living — in  peace 
and  quietness — when  all  Europe  had  to  wake  up  to  stamp  out  the 
Napoleonic  pest ;  and  they  are  alive  now  and  quite  careless  of  the 
little  creatures  that  come  to  span  out  their  circumference,  and 
ticket  them,  and  give  them  ridiculous  names.  Had  any  of  the 
patriarchs  a  life  as  long  as  that?" 

The  Laird  eyed  this  young  man  askance.  There  was  something 
uncanny  about  him.  What  might  not  he  say  when — in  the  North- 
ern solitudes  to  which  we  were  going — the  great  Semple  heresy 
case  was  brought  on  for  discussion  ? 

But  at  dinner  the  Laird  got  on  very  well  with  our  new  guest ; 
for  the  latter  listened  most  respectfully  when  Denny-mains  was 
demonstrating  the  exceeding  purity,  and  strength,  and  fitness  of 
the  speech  used  in  the  south  of  Scotland.  And  indeed  the  Laird 
was  generous.  He  admitted  that  there  were  blemishes.  He  dep- 
recated the  introduction  of  French  words,  and  gave  us  a  much 
longer  list  of  those  aliens  than  usually  appears  in  books.  What 
about  conjee,  and  que-vee,  and  fracaw,  as  used  by  Scotch  children 
and  old  wives? 

Then  after  dinner — at  nine  o'clock  the  wonderful  glow  of  the 
summer  evening  was  still  filling  the  drawing-room — the  Laird 
must  needs  have  Mary  Avon  sing  to  him.  It  was  not  a  custom 
of  hers.  She  rarely  would  sing  a  song  of  set  purpose.  The  lin- 
net sings  all  day — when  you  do  not  watch  her ;  but  she  will  not 
sing  if  you  go  and  ask. 


42  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

However,  on  this  occasion,  her  hostess  went  to  the  piano,  and 
sat  down  to  play  the  accompaniment ;  and  Mary  Avon  stood  be- 
side her,  and  sang,  in  rather  a  low  voice — but  it  was  tender  enough 
— some  modern  version  of  the  old  ballad  of  the  Queen's  Maries. 
What  were  the  words?     These  were  of  them,  anyway: 

"  Yestreen  the  Queen  had  four  Maries ; 
This  night  she'll  hae  but  three  : 
There  was  Mary  Beaton,  and  Mary  Seaton, 
And  Mary  Carmichael,  and  me." 

But,  indeed,  if  you  had  seen  that  graceful  slim  figure,  clad  all  in 
black  velvet,  with  the  broad  band  of  gold  fringe  round  the  neck, 
and  the  small,  shapely,  smoothly  brushed  head  above  the  soft 
swathes  of  white  muslin;  and  if  you  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  black  eyelashes  drooping  outward  from  the  curve  of  the 
pale  cheek,  and  if  yon  had  heard  the  tender,  low  voice  of  Mary 
Avon,  you  might  have  forgotten  about  the  Queen's  Maries  alto- 
gether. 

And  then  Angus  Sutherland :  the  Laird  Avas  determined — in 
true  Scotch  fashion — that  everybody  who  could  not  sing  should 
be  goaded  to  sing. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  the  young  man,  with  a  laugh,  "  you  know  a 
student  in  Germany  must  sing  whether  he  can  or  not.  And  I 
learned  there  to  smash  out  something  like  an  accompaniment, 
also." 

And  he  went  to  the  piano  without  more  ado,  and  did  smash  out 
an  accompaniment.  And  if  his  voice  was  rather  harsh — well,  we 
should  have  called  it  raucous  in  the  case  of  East  Wind,  but  we 
only  called  it  manly  and  strenuous  when  it  was  Angus  Sutherland 
who  sang.  And  it  was  a  manly  song,  too — a  fitting  song  for  our 
last  night  on  shore,  the  words  hailing  from  the  green  woods  of 
Fuinary,  the  air  an  air  that  had  many  a  time  been  heard  among 
the  Western  seas.     It  was  the  song  of  the  Biorlinn*  that  he  sang 


*  Biorlinn,  that  Is,  a  rowinpt-boat.  Tlie  word  is  pronoiinood  hiurlen.  The 
song,  which  in  a  measure  imitates  tlie  ihythiu  peculiar  to  lligliland  poetry — 
consisting  in  a  certain  repetition  of  the  same  vowel  sounds — is  the  produc- 
tion of  Dr.  Maeleod,  of  Morven.  And  here,  for  the  benefit  of  any  one  who 
minds  such  things,  is  a  rough  draft  of  tlie  air,  arranged  by  a  most  charm- 


BROSE. 


43 


to  us ;  wc  could  hear  the  brave  chorus  and  the  splash  of  the  long 

oars : 

"  Send  the  biorlinn  on  careering ! 
Cheerily  and  all  together — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen ! 

A  long,  strong  pull  together — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen ! 

"  Give  her  way  and  show  her  wake 
'Mid  showering  spray  and  curling  eddies — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen ! 
A  long,  strong  pull  together — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen !" 

Do  we  not  hear  now  the  measured  stroke  in  the  darkness  of  the 
morning  ?     The  water  springs  from  her  bows ;  one  by  one  the 

ing  young  lady,  who,  however,  says  she  would  rather  die  than  have  her  name 
mentioned : 


^-::^- 


±-±n 


-»-.  —0 0 0 •-7- 


-0—0- 


:-Nzi 


Seud  the  bior-liim  ou     careeinug !    Cheer-i-ly     and   all      to-geth-er. 


t — ^ — ^r*-^V 


^ 0~^^^-0-^ 

-j y — P— t^f-' 


meii 


-0—W—0- 


V     V 


:^ 


^zil^z^ 


-N-- 


Chouus. 

' ' ':  -j^ — S  -iy 

0 — 0 — ^ — ^  ^■■ 


=:s---1:=^:-q=u 


-0—0- 


Ho,    ro,  clansmen!   A  long,  strong  pull  together.      Ho,    ro,  claus-men! 

P  ff 


^^i-'f  • 


■I — 0 — I — #-h — V-^ 


3 


44  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

headlands  are  passed.  But  lo !  the  day  is  breaking ;  the  dawn 
will  surely  bring  a  breeze  with  it;  and  then  the  sail  of  the  gal- 
lant craft  will  bear  her  over  the  seas. 

"Another  cheer,  our  Isle  appears  ! 
Our  biorUnn  bears  her  on  the  faster — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen ! 
A  long,  strong  pull  together — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen ! 

"Ahead  she  goes!  the  land  she  knows! 
Behold!  the  snowy  shores  of  Canua — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen ! 
A  long,  strong  pull  together — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen !" 

A  long,  strong  pull  together,  indeed :  who  could  resist  joining  in 
the  thunder  of  the  chorus  ?  And  we  were  bound  for  Canna,  too  : 
this  was  our  last  night  on  shore. 

Our  last  night  on  shore.  In  such  circumstances  one  naturally 
has  a  glance  round  at  the  people  with  whom  one  is  to  be  brought 
into  such  close  contact  for  many  and  many  a  day.  But  in  this 
particular  case  what  was  the  use  of  speculating,  or  grumbling,  or 
remonstrating?  There  is  a  certain  household  that  is  I'uled  with 
a  rod  of  iron.  And  if  the  mistress  of  that  household  chose  to 
select  as  her  summer  companions  a  "  shilpit  bit  thing,"  and  a 
hard-headed,  ambitious  Scotch  student,  and  a  parocliial  magnate 
haunted  by  a  heresy  case,  how  dared  one  object  ?  There  is  such 
a  thing  as  peace  and  quietness. 

But  however  unpromising  the  outlook  might  be,  do  we  not 
know  the  remark  that  is  usually  made  by  that  hard-worked  of- 
ficer, the  chief  mate,  when  on  the  eve  of  a  voyage  he  finds  him- 
self confronted  by  an  unusually  mongrel  crew?  He  regards 
those  loafers  and  outcasts,  from  the  Bowery,  and  Ratcliflfe  High- 
way, and  the  Broomielaw — Greeks,  niggers,  and  Mexicans — with 
a  critical  and  perhaps  scornful  air,  and  forthwith  proceeds  to  ad- 
dress them  in  the  following  highly  polished  manner: 

"By  etcetera-etcetera,  you  are  an  ctceteraed  rum-looking  lot; 
but  etcetera-etcetera  me  if  I  doii't  lick  yoit,  into  shape  before  ive 
get  to  liio  /" 

And  so — good-night! — and  let  all  good  people  pray  for  fair 
skies  and  a  favoring  breeze !     And  if  there  is  any  song  to  be 


NORTHWARD.  45 

heard  in  our  dreams,  let  it  be  the  song  of  the  Queen's  Maries — 
in  the  low,  tender  voice  of  Mary  Avon : 

"  There  was  Mary  Beaton,  and  Mary  Seaton, 
And  Mary  Carmichael,  and  me." 


CHAPTER  VIL 

NORTHWARD. 

"We  have  bidden  good-bye  to  the  land;  the  woods  and  the 
green  hills  have  become  pale  in  the  haze  of  the  summer  light ; 
we  are  out  here,  alone,  on  the  shining  blue  plain.  And  if  Angus 
Sutherland  betrays  a  tendency  to  keep  forward,  conversing  with 
John  of  Skye  about  blocks,  and  tackle,  and  winches ;  and  if  the 
Laird — whose  parental  cai-e  and  regard  for  Mary  Avon  is  becom- 
ing beautiful  to  see — should  have  quite  a  monopoly  of  the  young 
lady,  and  be  more  bent  than  ever  on  amusing  her  with  his  "  good 
ones ;"  and  if  our  queen  and  governor  should  spend  a  large  por- 
tion of  her  time  below,  in  decorating  cabins  with  flowers,  in 
overhauling  napery,  and  in  earnest  consultation  with  Master  Fred 
about  certain  culinary  mysteries ;  notwithstanding  all  these  di- 
vergences of  place  and  occupation,  our  little  kingdom  afloat  is 
compact  enough.  There  is  always,  for  example,  a  reassembling 
at  meals.  There  is  an  instant  community  of  interest  when  a 
sudden  cry  calls  all  hands  on  deck  to  regard  some  new  thing — 
the  spouting  of  a  whale  or  the  silvery  splashing  of  a  shoal  of 
mackerel.  But  now — but  now — if  only  some  cloud-compelling 
Jove  would  break  this  insufferably  fine  weather,  and  give  us  a 
rattling  good  gale ! 

It  is  a  strange  little  kingdom.  It  has  no  postal  service.  Shil- 
ling telegrams  are  unknown  in  it;  there  is  no  newspaper  at 
breakfast.  Serene,  independent,  self-centred,  it  minds  its  own  af- 
fairs: if  the  whole  of  Europe  were  roaring  for  war,  not  even  an 
echo  of  the  cry  would  reach  us.  We  only  hear  the  soft  calling 
of  the  sea-birds  as  we  sit  and  read,  or  talk,  or  smoke,  from  time 
to  time  watching  the  shadows  move  on  the  blistering  hot  decks, 
or  guessing  at  the  names  of  the  great  mountains  that  rise  above 
Loch  Etive  and  Lochaber.  But  oh !  for  the  swift  gale  to  tear 
this  calm  to  pieces !     Is  there  no  one  of  you  giants  secretly  brew- 


46  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

ing  a  storm  for  us,  far  up  there  among  the  lonely  chasms,  to 
spring  down  on  these  glassy  seas  ? 

"  They  prayed  for  rain  in  the  churches  last  Sunday — so  Cap- 
tain John  says,"  Mary  Avon  remarks,  when  we  assemble  together 
at  lunch. 

"  The  distilleries  are  stopped :  that's  very  serious,"  continues 
the  Laird. 

"  Well,"  says  our  liege  lady,  "  people  talk  about  the  rain  in  the 
West  Highlands.  It  must  be  true,  as  everybody  says  it  is  true. 
But  now — excepting  the  year  we  went  to  America  with  Sylvia 
Balfour  —  we  have  been  here  for  five  years  running;  and  each 
year  we  made  up  our  mind  for  a  deluge,  thinking  we  had  deserved 
it,  you  know.     Well,  it  never  came.     Look  at  this  now." 

And  the  fact  was  that  we  were  lying  motionless  on  the  smooth 
bosom  of  the  Atlantic,  with  the  sun  so  hot  on  the  decks  that  we 
were  glad  to  get  below. 

"  Very  strange  —  very  strange,  indeed,"  remarked  the  Laird, 
with  a  profound  air.  "  Now,  what  value  are  we  to  put  on  any 
historical  evidence  if  we  find  such  a  conflict  of  testimony  about 
what  is  at  our  own  doors?  How  should  there  be  two  opeenions 
about  the  weather  in  the  West  Highlands.  It  is  a  matter  of  com- 
mon experience — dear  me  !     I  never  heard  the  like." 

"Oh,  but  I  think  we  might  try  to  reconcile  those  diverse  opin- 
ions !"  said  Angus  Sutherland,  with  an  absolute  gravity.  "  You 
hear  mostly  the  complaints  of  London  people,  who  make  much 
of  a  passing  shower.  Then  the  tourist  and  holiday  folk,  espe- 
cially from  the  South,  come  in  the  autumn,  when  the  fine  summer 
weather  has  broken.  And  then,"  he  added,  addressing  himself 
with  a  frank  smile  to  the  small  creature  who  had  been  expressing 
her  Avonder  over  the  fine  weather,  "  perhaps,  if  you  are  pleased 
with  your  holiday  on  the  whole,  you  are  not  anxious  to  remem- 
ber the  wet  days ;  and  then  you  are  not  afraid  of  a  shower,  I 
know ;  and  besides  that,  when  one  is  yachting,  one  is  more  anx- 
ious for  wind  than  for  fine  weather." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  that  is  it !"  called  out  Mary  Avon,  quite  eager- 
ly. She  did  not  care  how  she  destroyed  the  Laird's  convictions 
about  the  value  of  historical  evidence,  "  That  is  an  explanation 
of  the  whole  thing." 

At  this,  Angus  Sutherland — who  had  been  professing  to  treat 
this  matter  seriously  merely  as  a  joke — quickly  lowered  his  eyes. 


NORTHWARD.  47 

He  scarcely  ever  looked  Mary  Avon  in  tlie  face  when  she  spoke 
to  him,  or  when  he  had  to  speak  to  her.  And  a  little  bit  of  shy 
embarrassment  in  his  manner  toward  her — perceivable  only  at 
times — was  all  the  more  singular  in  a  man  who  was  shrewd  and 
hard -headed  enough,  who  had  knocked  about  the  world,  and 
seen  many  persons  and  things,  and  who  had  a  fair  amount  of 
unassuming  self-confidence,  mingled  with  a  vein  of  sly  and  reti- 
cent humor.  lie  talked  freely  enough  when  he  was  addressing 
our  admiral-in-chief.  He  was  not  afraid  to  meet  her  eyes.  In- 
deed, they  were  so  familiar  friends  that  she  called  him  by  his 
Christian  name — a  practice  which  in  general  she  detested.  But 
she  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  applying  "  Mr."  to  one  of  her 
own  boys  at  Epsom  College  as  to  Angus  Sutherland. 

"  Well,  you  know,  Angus,"  says  she,  pleasantly,  "  you  have 
definitely  promised  to  go  up  to  the  Outer  Hebrides  with  us,  and 
back.  The  longer  the  calms  last,  the  longer  we  shall  have  you. 
So  we  shall  gladly  put  up  with  the  fine  weather." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  say  so  ;  but  I  have  already  had  such 
a  long  holiday — " 

"  Oh !"  said  Mary  Avon,  with  her  eyes  full  of  wonder  and  in- 
dignation. She  was  too  surprised  to  say  any  more.  She  only 
stared  at  him.  She  knew  he  had  been  working  night  and  day 
in  Edinburgh. 

"  I  mean,"  said  he,  hastily,  and  looking  down,  "  I  have  been 
away  so  long  from  London.  Indeed,  I  was  getting  rather  anxious 
about  my  next  month's  number ;  but  luckily,  just  before  I  left 
Edinburgh,  a  kind  friend  sent  me  a  most  valuable  paper,  so  I  am 
quite  at  ease  again.  Would  you  like  to  read  it,  sir?  It  is  set 
up  in  type." 

He  took  the  sheets  from  his  pocket,  and  handed  them  to  the 
Laird.  Denny-mains  looked  at  the  title.  It  was  "  On  the  Ea- 
diolarians  of  the  Coal  Measures,"  and  it  was  the  production  of  a 
well-known  professor.  The  Laird  handed  back  the  paper  with- 
out opening  it. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  he,  with  some  dignity.  "  If  I  wished 
to  be  instructed,  I  would  like  a  safer  guide  than  that  man." 

We  looked  with  dismay  on  this  dangerous  thing  that  had 
been  brought  on  board :  might  it  not  explode,  and  blow  up  the 
ship? 

"  Why,"  said  our  doctor,  in  unafiected  wonder,  and  entirely 


48  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

mistaking  the  Laird's  exclamation,  "  he  is  a  perfect  master  of  his 
subject." 

"There  is  a  great  deal  too  much  speculation  nowadays  on  these 
matters,  and  parteecularly  among  the  younger  men,"  remarked  the 
Laird,  severely.  And  he  looked  at  Angus  Sutherland.  "  I  sup- 
pose now  ye  are  well  acquainted  with  the  '  Vestiges  of  Creation  V  " 

"  I  have  heard  of  the  book,"  said  Brose,  regretfully  confessing 
his  ignorance,  "  but  I  never  happened  to  see  it." 

The  Laird's  countenance  lightened. 

"  So  much  the  better — so  much  the  better.  .  A  most  mischiev- 
ous and  unsettling  book.  But  all  the  harm  it  can  do  is  counter- 
acted by  a  noble  work,  a  conclusive  work,  that  leaves  nothing  to 
be  said.     Ye  have  read  the  '  Testimony  of  the  Rocks,'  no  doubt  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  certainly,"  our  doctor  was  glad  to  be  able  to  say ; 
"  but — but  it  was  a  long  time  ago — when  I  was  a  boy,  in  fact." 

"  Boy  or  man,  you'll  get  no  better  book  on  the  history  of  the 
earth.  I  tell  ye,  sir,  I  never  read  a  book  that  placed  such  firm 
conviction  in  my  mind.  Will  ye  get  any  of  the  new  men  they 
are  talking  about  as  keen  an  observer  and  as  skilful  in  arguing  as 
Hugh  Miller  ?  No,  no  ;  not  one  of  them  dares  to  try  to  upset  the 
'  Testimony  of  the  Rocks.'  " 

Angus  Sutherland  appealed  against  this  sentence  of  finality  only 
in  a  very  humble  way. 

"  Of  course,  sir,"  said,  he  meekly,  "  you  know  that  science  is 
still  moving  forward — " 

*'  Science  ?"  repeated  the  Laird.  "  Science  may  be  moving  for- 
ward or  moving  backward ;  but  can  it  upset  the  facts  of  the 
earth?  Science  may  say  what  it  likes;  but  the  facts  remain  the 
same." 

Now  this  point  was  so  conclusive  that  we  unanimously  hailed 
the  Laird  as  victor.  Our  doctor  submitted  with  an  excellent  good- 
humor,  lie  even  promised  to  post  that  paper  on  the  Radiolarians 
at  the  very  first  office  we  might  reach  :  we  did  not  want  any  such 
explosive  compounds  on  board. 

That  night  we  only  got  as  far  as  Fishnish  Bay — a  solitary  lit- 
tle harbor  probably  down  on  but  few  maps;  and  that  we  had  to 
reach  by  getting  out  the  gig  for  a  tow.  There  was  a  strange 
bronze-red  in  the  northern  skies,  long  after  the  sun  had  set ;  but 
in  here  the  shadow  of  the  great  mountains  was  on  the  water.  We 
could  scarcely  see  the  gig;  but  Angus  Sutherland  had  joined  the 


NORTUWARD.  49 

men,  and  was  pulling  stroke;  and  along  with  the  measured  splash 
of  the  oars  we  heard  something  about  "^o,  ro,  clansmen  /"  Then, 
in  the  cool  night  air,  there  was  a  slight  fragrance  of  peat  smoke ; 
we  knew  we  were  getting  near  the  shore. 

"He's  a  fine  fellow  that,"  says  the  Laird,  generously,  of  his 
defeated  antagonist.  "A  fine  fellow.  His  knowledge  of  different 
things  is  just  remarkable  ;  and  he's  as  modest  as  a  girl.  Ay,  and 
he  can  row,  too ;  a  while  ago,  when  it  was  lighter,  I  could  see 
him  put  his  shoulders  into  it.  Ay,  he's  a  fine  good-natured  fel- 
low, and  I  am  glad  he  has  not  been  led  astray  by  that  mischievous 
book,  the  'Vestiges  of  Creation.'  " 

Come  on  board  now,  boys,  and  swing  up  the  gig  to  the  davits. 
Twelve  fathoms  of  chain  ? — away  with  her,  then  ! — and  there  is  a 
roar  in  the  silence  of  the  lonely  little  bay.  And  thereafter  si- 
lence ;  and  the  sweet  fragrance  of  the  peat  in  the  night  air,  and 
the  appearance,  above  the  black  hills,  of  a  clear,  shining,  golden 
planet  that  sends  a  quivering  line  of  light  across  the  water  to  us. 
And,  once  more,  good-night,  and  pleasant  dreams ! 

But  what  is  this  in  the  morning?  There  have  been  no  pleasant 
dreams  for  John  of  Skye  and  his  merry  men  during  the  last  night ; 
for  here  we  are  already  between  Mingary  Bay  and  Ru-na-Gaul 
Light-house;  and  before  us  is  the  open  Atlantic,  blue  under  the 
fair  skies  of  the  morning.  And  here  is  Dr.  Sutherland,  at  the 
tiller,  with  a  suspiciously  negligent  look  about  his  hair  and  shirt- 
collar. 

"  I  have  been  up  since  four,"  says  he,  with  a  laugh.  "  I  heard 
them  getting  under  way,  and  did  not  wish  to  miss  anything. 
You  know  these  places  are  not  so  familiar  to  me  as  they  are  to 
you." 

"  Is  there  going  to  be  any  wind  to-day,  John  ?" 

"No  mich,"  says  John  of  Skye,  looking  at  the  cloudless  blue 
vault  above  and  the  glassy  sweeps  of  the  sea. 

Nevertheless,  as  the  morning  goes  by,  we  get  as  much  of  a 
breeze  as  enables  us  to  draw  away  from  the  main-land — round 
Ardnaraurchan  ("  the  headland  of  the  great  sea ")  and  out  into 
the  open — with  Muick  Island,  and  the  sharp  Scuir  of  Eigg,  and 
the  peaks  of  Rum  lying  over  there  on  the  still  Atlantic,  and  far 
away  in  the  north  the  vast  and  spectral  mountains  of  Skye. 

And  now  the  work  of  the  day  begins.  Mary  Avon,  for  mere 
shame's  sake,  is  at  last  compelled  to  produce  one  of  her  blank 


50  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 

canvases,  and  open  her  box  of  tubes.  And  now  it  would  appear 
that  Angus  Sutherland — though  deprived  of  the  authority  of  the 
sick-room — is  beginning  to  lose  his  fear  of  the  English  young 
lady.  He  makes  himself  useful — not  with  the  elaborate  and  pat- 
ronizing courtesy  of  the  Laird,  but  in  a  sort  of  submissive,  mat- 
ter-of-fact shifty  fashion.  He  sheathes  the  spikes  of  her  easel 
with  cork,  so  that  they  shall  not  mark  the  deck.  He  rigs  up,  to 
counterbalance  that  lack  of  stability,  a  piece  of  cord  with  a  heavy 
weight.  Then,  with  the  easel  fixed,  he  fetches  her  a  deck  chair 
to  sit  in,  and  a  deck  stool  for  her  colors,  and  these  and  her  he 
places  under  the  lee  of  the  foresail,  to  be  out  of  the  glare  of  the 
sun.  Thus  our  artist  is  started ;  she  is  going  to  make  a  sketch 
of  the  after-part  of  the  yacht,  with  Hector  of  Moidart  at  the  til- 
ler :  beyond,  the  calm  blue  seas,  and  a  faint  promontory  of  land. 

Then  the  Laird — having  confidentially  remarked  to  Miss  Avon 
that  Tom  Galbraith,  than  whom  there  is  no  greater  authority  liv- 
ing, invariably  moistens  the  fresh  canvas  with  megilp  before  be- 
ginning work — has  turned  to  the  last  report  of  the  Semple  case. 

"  No,  no,"  says  he  to  our  sovereign  lady,  who  is  engaged  in 
some  mysterious  work  in  wool,  "  it  does  not  look  well  for  the 
Presbytery  to  go  over  every  one  of  the  charges  in  the  major  prop- 
oseetion — supported  by  the  averments  in  the  minor — only  to  find 
them  irrelevant ;  and  then  bring  home  to  him  the  part  of  the  li- 
bel that  deals  with  tendency.  No,  no ;  that  shows  a  lamentable 
want  of  purpose.  In  view  of  the  great  danger  to  be  apprehend- 
ed from  these  secret  assaults  on  the  inspiration  of  the  Scriptures, 
they  should  have  stuck  to  each  charge  with  tenahcity.  Now  I 
will  just  show  ye  where  Dr.  Carnegie,  in  defending  Sectindo — 
illustrated  as  it  was  with  the  extracts  and  averments  in  the  minor 
— let  the  whole  thing  slip  through  his  fingers." 

But  if  any  one  were  disposed  to  be  absolutely  idle  on  this  calm, 
shining,  beautiful  day — far  away  from  the  cares  and  labors  of  the 
land  ?  Out  on  the  talfrail,  under  shadow  of  the  mizzen,  there  is  a 
scat  that  is  gratefully  cool.  The  glare  of  the  sea  no  longer  be- 
wilders the  eyes ;  one  can  watch  with  a  lazy  enjoyment  the  teem- 
ing life  of  the  open  Atlantic.  The  great  skarts  go  whizzing  by, 
long-necked,  rapid  of  flight.  The  gannets  poise  in  the  air,  and 
then  there  is  a  sudden  dart  downward,  and  a  spout  of  water  flash- 
es up  where  the  bird  has  dived.  The  guillemots  fill  the  silence 
with  their  soft  kurrooing — and  here  they  are  on  all  sides  of  us — 


NORTHWARD.  61 

Kurroo!  Kiirroo ! — dipping  their  bills  in  the  water,  hastening 
away  from  the  vessel,  and  then  rising  on  the  surface  to  flap  their 
wings.  But  this  is  a  strange  thing:  they  are  all  in  pairs — ob- 
viously mother  and  child — and  the  mother  calls  Kurroo!  Kur- 
roo!— and  the  young  one,  unable  as  yet  to  dive  or  swim,  answers 
Pe-yoo-it!  Pe-tjoo-it!  and  flutters  and  paddles  after  her.  But 
where  is  the  father?  And  has  the  guillemot  only  one  of  a  fami- 
ly ?  Over  that  one,  at  all  events,  she  exercises  a  valiant  protec- 
tion. Even  though  the  stem  of  the  yacht  seems  likely  to  run 
both  of  them  down,  she  will  neither  dive  nor  fly  until  she  has 
piloted  the  young  one  out  of  danger. 

Then  a  sudden  cry  startles  the  Laird  from  his  heresy  case,  and 
Mary  Avon  from  her  canvas.  A  sound  far  away  has  turned  all 
eyes  to  the  north ;  though  there  is  nothing  visible  there,  over  the 
shining  calm  o^  the  sea,  but  a  small  cloud  of  white  spray  that 
slowly  sinks.  In  a  second  or  two,  however,  we  see  another  jet  of 
white  water  arise ;  and  then  a  great  brown  mass  heave  slowly 
over;  and  then  we  hear  the  spouting  of  the  whale. 

"  What  a  huge  animal !"  cries  one.     "A  hundred  feet !" 

"  Eighty,  anyway !" 

The  whale  is  sheering  off  to  the  north :  there  is  less  and  less 
chance  of  our  forming  any  correct  estimate. 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  it  was  a  hundred  I  Don't  you  think  so,  An- 
gus?" says  our  admiral. 

"  Well,"  says  the  doctor,  slowly — pretending  to  be  very  anxious 
about  keeping  the  sails  full  (when  there  was  no  wind) — *'  you 
know  there  is  a  great  difference  between  '  yacht  measurement ' 
and  '  registered  tonnage.'  A  vessel  of  fifty  registered  tons  may 
become  eighty  or  ninety  by  yacht  measurement.  And  I  have 
often  noticed,"  continues  this  graceless  young  man,  who  takes  no 
thought  how  he  is  bringing  contempt  on  his  elders,  "  that  objects 
seen  from  the  deck  of  a  yacht  are  naturally  subject  to  'yacht 
measurement.'  I  don't  know  what  the  size  of  that  whale  may 
be.  Its  registered  tonnage,  I  suppose,  Avould  be  the  number  of 
Jonahs  it  could  carry.  But  I  should  think  that  if  the  apparent 
'yacht  measurement'  was  a  hundred  feet,  the  whale  was  probably 
about  twenty  feet  long." 

It  was  thus  he  tried  to  diminish  the  marvels  of  the  deep.  But, 
however  he  might  crush  us  otherwise,  we  were  his  masters  on 
one  point.     The  Semple  heresy  case  was  too  deep  even  for  hira. 

3* 


52  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 

What  could  he  make  of  "  the  first  alternative  of  the  general 
major  f 

And  see  now,  on  this  beautiful  summer  evening,  we  pass  be- 
tween Muick  and  Eigg  ;  and  the  sea  is  like  a  plain  of  gold.  As 
we  draw  near  the  sombre  mass  of  Rum  the  sunset  deepens,  and 
a  strange  lurid  mist  hangs  around  this  remote  and  mountainous 
island  rising  sheer  from  the  Atlantic.  Gloomy  and  mysterious 
are  the  vast  peaks  of  Haleval  and  Haskeval ;  we  creep  under 
them — favored  by  a  flood  tide — and  the  silence  of  the  desolate 
shores  seems  to  spread  out  from  them  and  to  encompass  us. 

Mary  Avon  has  long  ago  put  away  her  canvas ;  she  sits  and 
watches  ;  and  her  soft  black  eyes  are  full  of  dreaming  as  she 
gazes  up  at  tliose  thunder-dark  mountains  against  the  rosy  haze 
of  the  west. 

"  Haleval  and  Haskeval  ?"  Angus  Sutherland  repeats,  in  reply 
to  his  hostess ;  but  he  starts  all  the  same,  for  he  has  been  covert- 
ly regarding  the  dark  and  wistful  eyes  of  the  girl  sitting  there. 
"  Oh,  these  are  Norse  names.  Scuir  na  Gillean,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  Gaelic — it  is  the  peak  of  the  young  men.  Perhaps  the 
Norsemen  had  the  north  of  the  island,  and  the  Celts  the  south." 

Whether  they  were  named  by  Scandinavian  or  by  Celt,  Hale- 
val and  Haskeval  seemed  to  overshadow  us  with  their  sultry 
gloom  as  we  slowly  glided  into  the  lonely  loch  lying  at  their 
base.  We  were  the  only  vessel  there ;  and  we  could  make  out 
no  sign  of  life  on  shore,  until  the  glass  revealed  to  us  one  or  two 
half-ruined  cottages.  The  Northern  twilight  shone  in  the  sky 
far  into  the  night ;  but  neither  that  clear  metallic  glow,  nor  any 
radiance  from  moon,  or  planet,  or  stars,  seemed  to  affect  the 
thunder-darkness  of  Haskeval  and  Haleval's  silent  peaks. 

There  was  another  tale  to  tell  below :  the  big  saloon  all  lit 
up ;  the  white  table-cover  with  its  centre  piece  of  roses,  nastur- 
tiums, and  ferns ;  the  delayed  dinner,  or  supper,  or  whatever  it 
might  be  called,  all  artistically  arranged  ;  Angus  Sutherland  most 
humbly  solicitous  that  Mary  Avon  should  be  comfortably  seated, 
and,  in  fact,  quite  usurping  the  oftice  of  the  Laird  in  that  re- 
spect ;  and  then  a  sudden  sound  in  the  galley,  a  hissing  as  of  a 
thousand  squibs,  telling  us  that  Master  Fred  had  once  more,  and 
ineffectually,  tried  to  suppress  the  released  genie  of  the  bottle  by 
jamming  down  the  cork.  And  now  the  Laird,  with  his  old- 
fashioned  ways,  must  needs  propose  a  health,  which  is  that  of 


PLOTS    AND    COUNTERPLOTS.  53 

our  most  sovereign  mistress  and  lady  ;  and  this  he  does  with  an 
elaborate  and  gracious  and  sonorous  courtesy.  And  surely  there 
is  no  reason  why  Mary  Avon  should  not  for  once  break  her  habit 
and  join  in  that  simple  ceremony  ;  especially  when  it  is  a  real 
live  doctor — and  not  only  a  doctor,  but  an  encyclopedia  of  scien- 
tific and  all  other  knowledge  —  who  would  fain  fill  her  glass  ? 
Angus  Sutherland  modestly  but  seriously  pleads;  and  he  does 
not  plead  in  vain  ;  and  you  would  think  from  his  look  that  she 
had  conferred  an  extraordinary  favor  on  him.  Then  we  —  we 
propose  a  health  too  —  the  health  of  the  Four  Winds!  —  and 
we  do  not  care  which  of  them  it  is  who  is  coming  to-morrow,  so 
long  as  he  or  she  comes  in  force.  Blow,  breezes,  blow ! — from 
the  Coolins  of  Skye,  or  the  shores  of  Coll,  or  the  glens  of  Ari- 
saig  and  Moidart  —  for  to-morrow  morning  we  shake  out  once 
more  the  white  wino-s  of  the  White  Dove  ! 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

PLOTS    AND    COUNTERPLOTS. 


Now  the  Laird  has  a  habit — laudable  or  not — of  lingerino- 
over  an  additional  half  cup  at  breakfast,  as  an  excuse  for  desul- 
tory talk ;  and  thus  it  is,  on  this  particular  morning,  the  young 
people  having  gone  on  deck  to  see  the  yacht  get  under  way,  that 
Denny -mains  has  a  chance  of  revealing  to  us  certain  secret 
schemes  of  his  over  which  he  has  apparently  been  brooding. 
How  could  we  have  imagined  that  all  this  plotting  and  planning 
had  been  going  on  beneath  the  sedate  exterior  of  the  Conmiis- 
sioner  for  the  Burgh  of  Strathgovan  ? 

"  She's  just  a  wonderful  bit  lass !"  he  says,  confidently,  to  his 
hostess ;  "  as  happy  and  contented  as  the  day  is  long ;  and  when 
she's  not  singing  to  herself,  her  way  of  speech  has  a  sort  of — a 
sort  of  music  in  it  that  is  quite  new  to  me.  Yes,  I  must  admit 
that;  I  did  not  know  that  the  Southern  English  tongue  was  so 
accurate  and  pleasant  to  the  ear.  Ay,  but  what  will  become  of 
her?" 

What,  indeed  !  The  lady  whom  he  was  addressing  had  often 
spoken  to  him  of  Mary  Avon's  isolated  position  in  the  world. 

"It  fairly  distresses  me,"  continues  the  good-hearted  Laird, 


54  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

"  when  I  think  of  her  condeetion — not  at  present,  when  she  lias, 
if  I  may  be  allowed  to  say  so,  several  friends  near  her  who  would 
be  glad  to  do  what  they  could  for  her ;  but  by-and-by,  when  she 
is  becoming  older — " 

The  Laird  hesitated.  Was  it  possible,  after  all,  that  he  was 
about  to  hint  at  the  chance  of  Mary  Avon  becoming  the  mistress 
of  the  mansion  and  estate  of  Denny-mains  1  Then  he  made  a 
plunge. 

"A  young  woman  in  her  position  should  have  a  husband  to 
protect  her;  that  is  what  I  am  sure  of.  Have  ye  never  thought 
of  it,  ma'am  ?" 

"  I  should  like  very  well  to  see  Mary  married,"  says  the  other, 
demurely.     "And  I  know  she  would  make  an  excellent  wife,'* 

"An  excellent  wife !"  exclaims  the  Laird ;  and  then  he  adds, 
with  a  tone  approaching  to  severity :  "  I  tell  ye  he  will  be  a  fort- 
unate man  that  gets  her.  Oh  ay ;  I  have  watched  her.  I  can 
keep  ray  eyes  open  when  there  is  need.  Did  you  hear  her  ask- 
ing the  captain  about  his  wife  and  children?  I  tell  you  there's 
human  nature  in  that  lass." 

There  was  no  need  for  the  Laird  to  be  so  pugnacious;  we 
were  not  contesting  the  point.     However,  he  resumed : 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  said  he,  with  a  little  more  shyness, 
"  about  my  nephew.  He's  a  good  lad.  Well,  ye  know,  ma'am, 
that  I  do  not  approve  of  young  men  being  brought  up  in  idle- 
ness, whatever  their  prospects  must  be;  and  I  have  no  doubt 
whatever  that  my  nephew  Howard  is  working  hard  enough — 
what  with  the  reading  of  law-books,  and  attending  the  courts,  and 
all  that — though  as  yet  he  has  not  had  much  business.  But  then 
there  is  no  necessity.  I  do  not  think  he  is  a  lad  of  any  great 
ambeetion,  like  your  friend  Mr.  Sutherland,  who  has  to  fight  his 
way  in  the  world  in  any  case.  But  Howard — I  have  been  think- 
ing now  that  if  he  was  to  got  married  and  settled,  he  might  give 
up  the  law  business  altogether ;  and  if  they  were  content  to  live 
in  Scotland,  he  might  look  after  Denny-mains.  It  will  be  his  in 
any  case,  ye  know ;  he  would  have  the  interest  of  a  man  looking 
after  his  own  property.  Now  I  will  tell  ye  plainly,  ma'am,  what 
I  have  been  thinking  about  this  day  or  two  back:  if  Howard 
would  marry  your  young  lady  friend,  that  would  be  agreeable  to 
me." 

The  calm  manner  in  which  the  Laird  announced  his  scheme 


PLOTS    AND    COUNTERPLOTS.  55 

showed  tliat  it  had  been  well  matured.  It  was  a  natural,  simple, 
feasible  arrangement,  by  which  two  persons  in  whom  he  took  a 
warm  interest  would  be  benefited  at  once. 

"But  then,  sir,"  says  his  hostess,  with  a  smile  which  she  can- 
not wholly  repress,  "  you  know  people  never  do  marry  to  please 
a  third  person — at  least,  very  seldom." 

"  Oh,  there  can  be  no  forcing,"  said  the  Laird,  with  decision. 
"  But  I  have  done  a  great  deal  for  Iloward :  may  I  not  expect 
that  he  will  do  something  for  me  ?" 

"  Oh,  doubtless,  doubtless,"  says  this  amiable  lady,  who  has 
had  some  experience  in  match-making  herself;  "but  I  have  gen- 
erally found  that  marriages  that  would  be  in  every  way  suitable 
and  pleasing  to  friends,  and  obviously  desirable,  are  precisely  the 
marriages  that  never  come  off.  Young  people,  when  they  are 
flung  at  each  other's  heads,  to  use  the  common  phrase,  never  will 
be  sensible  and  please  their  relatives.  Now  if  you  were  to  bring 
your  nephew  here,  do  you  think  Mary  would  fall  in  love  with 
him  because  she  ought  ?  More  likely  you  would  find  that,  out 
of  pure  contrariety,  she  would  fall  in  love  with  Angus  Suther- 
land, who  cannot  afford  to  marry,  and  whose  head  is  filled  with 
other  things." 

"I  am  not  sure  —  I  am  not  sure,"  said  the  Laird,  musingly. 
"  How^ard  is  a  good-looking  young  fellow,  and  a  capital  lad,  too. 
I  am  not  so  sure." 

"And  then,  you  know,"  said  the  other,  shyly,  for  she  will  not 
plainly  say  anything  to  Mary's  disparagement,  "  young  men  have 
different  tastes  in  their  choice  of  a  wife.  He  might  not  have 
the  high  opinion  of  her  that  you  have." 

At  this  the  Laird  gave  a  look  of  surprise,  even  of  resentment. 

"Then  I'll  tell  ye  what  it  is,  ma'am,"  said  he,  almost  angrily, 
"  if  my  nephew  had  the  chance  of  marrying  such  a  girl,  and  did 
not  do  so,  I  should  consider  him — I  should  consider  him  a  fool, 
and  say  so." 

And  then  he  added,  sharply  : 

"And  do  you  think  I  would  let  Denny-mains  pass  into  the 
hands  of  a  fool  f 

Now  this  kind  lady  had  had  no  intention  of  rousing  the  wrath 
of  the  Laird  in  this  manner,  and  she  instantly  set  about  pacify- 
ing him.  And  the  Laird  was  easily  pacified.  In  a  minute  or 
two  he  was  laughing  good-naturedly  at  himself  for  getting  into 


56  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

a  passion ;  lie  said  it  would  not  do  for  one  at  his  time  of  life  to 
try  to  play  the  part  of  the  stern  father  as  they  played  that  in 
theatre  pieces :  there  was  to  be  no  forcing. 

"  But  he's  a  good  lad,  ma'am,  a  good  lad,"  said  he,  rising  as 
his  hostess  rose ;  and  he  added,  significantly,  "  he  is  no  fool,  I 
assure  you,  ma'am  ;  he  has  plenty  of  common-sense." 

When  we  get  up  on  deck  again  we  find  that  the  White  Dove 
is  gently  gliding  out  of  the  lonely  Loch  Scresorst,  with  its  soli- 
tary house  among  the  trees,  and  its  crofter's  huts  at  the  base  of 
the  sombre  hills.  And  as  the  light  cool  breeze — gratefully  cool 
after  the  blazing  heat  of  the  last  day  or  two — carries  us  away 
northward,  we  see  more  and  more  of  the  awful  solitudes  of 
Haleval  and  Haskeval,  that  are  still  thunderous  and  dark  under 
the  hazy  sky.  Above  the  great  shoulders  and  under  the  purple 
peaks  we  see  the  far-reaching  corries  opening  up,  with  here  and 
there  a  white  water-fall  just  visible  in  the  hollows.  There  is  a 
sense  of  escape  as  we  draw  away  from  that  overshadowing  gloom. 

Then  we  discover  that  we  have  a  new  skipper  to-day,  vice  John 
of  Skye,  deposed.  The  fresh  hand  is  Mary  Avon,  who  is  at  the 
tiller,  and  looking  exceedingly  business-like.  She  has  been  pro- 
moted to  this  post  by  Dr.  Sutherland,  who  stands  by ;  she  receives 
explanations  about  the  procedure  of  Hector  of  Moidart,  who  is 
up  aloft  lacing  the  smaller  top-sail  to  the  mast ;  she  watches  the 
operations  of  John  of  Skye  and  Sandy,  who  are  at  the  sheets  be- 
low ;  -and,  like  a  wise  and  considerate  captain,  she  pretends  not 
to  notice  Master  Fred,  who  is  having  a  quiet  smoke  by  the  wind- 
lass. And  so  past  those  lonely  shores  sails  the  brave  vessel — the 
yawl  White  Dove,  Captain  Mary  Avon,  bound  for  anywhere. 

But  you  must  not  imagine  that  the  new  skipper  is  allowed  to 
stand  by  the  tiller.  Captain  though  she  may  be,  she  has  to  sub- 
mit civilly  to  dictation,  in  so  far  as  her  foot  is  concerned.  Our 
young  doctor  has  compelled  her  to  be  seated,  and  he  has  passed 
a  rope  round  the  tiller  that  so  she  can  steer  from  her  chair,  and 
from  time  to  time  he  gives  suggestions,  which  she  receives  as 
orders. 

"I  wish  I  had  been  with  you  when  you  first  sprained  your 
foot,"  he  says. 

"Yes?"  she  answers,  with  humble  iiKjuiry  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  would  have  put  it  in  plaster  of  Paris,"  he  says,  in  a  matter- 
of-fact  way,  '*  and  locked  you  up  in  the  house  for  a  fortnight ; 


PLOTS    AND    COUNTEHPLOTS.  57 

at  the  end  of  that  time  you  would  not  know  which  ankle  was  the 
sprained  one." 

There  was  neither  "with  your  leave"  nor  "by  your  leave"  in 
this  youno-  man's  manner  when  he  spoke  of  that  accident.  He 
would  have  taken  possession  of  her.  He  would  have  discarded 
your  bandages  and  hartshorn,  and  what  not ;  when  it  was  Mary 
Avon's  foot  that  was  concerned,  it  was  intimated  to  us  :  he  would 
have  had  his  own  M'ay  in  spite  of  all  comers. 

"I  Avish  I  had  known,"  she  says,  timidly,  meaning  that  it  was 
the  treatment  she  wished  she  had  known. 

"  There  is  a  more  heroic  remedy,"  said  he,  with  a  smile,  "  and 
that  is  walking  the  sprain  off.  1  believe  that  can  be  done,  but 
most  people  would  shrink  from  the  pain.  Of  course,  if  it  were 
done  at  all,  it  would  be  done  by  a  woman :  women  can  bear  pain 
infinitely  better  than  men." 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  so  f '  she  says,  in  mild  protest.  "  Oh,  I 
am  sure  not.  Men  are  so  much  braver  than  women,  so  much 
stronger — " 

But  this  gentle  quarrel  is  suddenly  stopped,  for  some  one  calls 
attention  to  a  deer  that  is  calmly  browsing  on  one  of  the  high 
slopes  above  that  rocky  shore,  and  instantly  all  glasses  are  in  re- 
quest. It  is  a  hind,  with  a  beautifully  shaped  head  and  slender 
legs.  She  takes  no  notice  of  the  passing  craft,  but  continues  her 
feeding,  walking  a  few  steps  onward  from  time  to  time.  In  this 
way  she  reaches  the  edge  of  a  gully  in  the  rugged  cliffs  where 
there  is  some  brushwood,  and  probably  a  stream  ;  into  this  she 
sedately  descends,  and  we  see  her  no  more. 

Then  there  is  another  cry :  what  is  this  cloud  ahead,  or  water- 
spout, resting  on  the  calm  bosom  of  the  sea?  Glasses  again  in 
request,  amidst  many  exclamations,  reveal  to  us  that  this  is  a  dense 
cloud  of  birds  —  a  flock  so  vast  that  toward  the  water  it  seems 
black.  Can  it  be  the  dead  body  of  a  whale  that  has  collected 
this  world  of  wings  from  all  the  northern  seas?  Hurry  on,  White 
Dove,  for  the  floating  cloud  with  the  black  base  is  moving  and 
seething,  in  fantastic  white  fumes,  as  it  were,  in  the  loveliness  of 
this  summer  day.  And  now,  as  we  draw  nearer,  we  can  descry 
that  there  is  no  dead  body  of  a  whale  causing  that  blackness,  but 
only  the  density  of  the  mass  of  sea-fowl !  And  nearer  and  nearer 
as  we  draw,  behold !  the  great  gannets  swooping  down  in  such 
numbers  that  the  sea  is  covered  with  a  mist  of  water-spouts ;  and 


58  WHITE    WINGS  ;    A    YACHTING     ROMANCE. 

the  air  is  filled  with  innumerable  cries ;  and  we  do  not  know  what 
to  make  of  this  bewildering,  fluttering,  swimming,  screaming  mass 
of  terns,  guillemots,  skarts,  kittiwakes,  razor-bills,  puffins,  and  gulls. 
But  they  draw  away  again.  The  herring  shoal  is  moving  north- 
ward. The  murmur  of  cries  becomes  more  remote,  and  the  seeth- 
ing cloud  of  the  sea-birds  is  slowly  dispersing.  When  the  White 
Dove  sails  up  to  the  spot  at  which  this  phenomenon  was  first 
seen,  there  is  nothing  visible  but  a  scattered  assemblage  of  guille- 
mots— Kurroo !  Kurroo!  answered  by  Pe-yoo-it !  Pe-yoo-it! — 
and  great  gannets  ("  as  big  as  a  sheep,"  says  John  of  Skye),  ap- 
parently so  gorged  that  they  lie  on  the  water  within  stone's-throw 
of  the  yacht,  before  spreading  out  their  long,  snow-white,  black- 
tipped  wings  to  bear  them  away  over  the  sea. 

And  now,  as  we  are  altering  our  course  to  the  west — far  away 
to  our  right  stand  the  vast  Coolins  of  Skye — we  sail  along  the 
northern  shores  of  Rum.  There  is  no  trace  of  any  habitation 
visible ;  nothing  but  the  precipitous  cliffs  and  the  sandy  bays  and 
the  outstanding  rocks  dotted  with  rows  of  shining  black  skarts. 
When  Mary  Avon  asks  why  those  sandy  bays  should  be  so  red, 
and  why  a  certain  ruddy  warmth  of  color  should  shine  through 
even  the  patches  of  grass,  our  F.R.S.  begins  to  speak  of  powdered 
basalt  rubbed  down  from  the  rocks  above.  He  would  have  her 
begin  another  sketch,  but  she  is  too  proud  of  her  newly-acquired 
knowledge  to  forsake  the  tiller. 

The  wind  is  now  almost  dead  aft,  and  we  have  a  good  deal  of 
jibing.  Other  people  might  think  that  all  this  jibing  was  an  evi- 
dence of  bad  steering  on  the  part  of  our  new  skipper;  but  Angus 
Sutherland — and  we  cannot  contradict  an  F.R.S. — assures  Miss 
Avon  that  she  is  doing  remarkably  well ;  and,  as  he  stands  by  to 
lay  hold  of  the  main-sheet  when  the  boom  swings  over,  we  are  not 
in  much  danger  of  carrying  away  either  port  or  starboard  davits. 

"  Do  you  know,"  says  he,  lightly,  "  I  sometimes  think  I  ought 
to  apply  for  the  post  of  surgeon  on  board  a  man-of-war  ?  That 
would  just  suit  me — " 

"  Oh,  I  hope  you  will  not,"  she  blurts  out,  quite  inadvertently  ; 
and  thereafter  there  is  a  deep  blush  on  her  face. 

"  I  should  enjoy  it  immensely,  I  know,"  says  he,  wholly  igno- 
rant of  her  embarrassment,  because  he  is  keeping  an  eye  on  the 
sails.  "I  believe  I  should  have  more  pleasure  in  life  that  way 
than  any  other." 


PLOTS    AND    COUNTERPLOTS.  59 

"But  you  do  not  live  for  your  own  pleasure,"  says  she,  hastily, 
perhaps  to  cover  her  confusion. 

"  I  have  no  one  else  to  live  for,  anyway,"  says  he,  with  a  laugh  ; 
and  then  he  corrected  himself.  "  Oh  yes,  I  have.  My  father  is  a 
sad  heretic.  He  has  fallen  away  from  the  standards  of  his  faith ; 
he  has  set  up  idols — the  diplomas  and  medals  I  have  got  from 
time  to  time.  He  has  them  all  arranged  in  his  study,  and  I  have 
heard  that  he  positively  sits  down  before  them  and  worships 
them.  When  I  sent  him  the  medal  from  Vienna — it  was  only 
bronze — he  returned  to  me  his  Greek  Testament  that  he  had  in- 
terleaved and  annotated  when  he  was  a  student;  I  believe  it  was 
his  greatest  possession." 

"And  you  would  give  up  all  that  he  expects  from  you,  to  go 
away  and  be  a  doctor  on  board  a  ship !"  says  Mary  Avon,  with 
some  proud  emphasis.  "  That  would  not  be  my  ambition  if  I 
were  a  man,  and — and  if  I  had — if — " 

Well,  she  could  not  quite  say  to  Brose's  face  what  she  thought 
of  his  powers  and  prospects;  so  she  suddenly  broke  away  and 
said, 

"Yes;  you  would  go  and  do  that  for  your  own  amusement? 
And  what  would  the  amusement  be  ?  Do  you  think  they  w^ould 
let  the  doctor  interfere  with  the  sailing  of  the  ship  ?" 

"  Well,"  said  he,  laughing,  "  that  is  a  practical  objection.  I 
don't  suppose  the  captain  of  a  man-of-war  or  even  of  a  merchant 
vessel  would  be  as  accommodating  as  your  John  of  Skye.  Cap- 
tain John  has  his  compensation  when  he  is  relieved ;  he  can  go 
forward  and  light  his  pipe." 

"Well,  I  think,  for  your  father'' s  sake,^''  says  Miss  Avon,  with 
decision,  "  you  had  better  put  that  idea  out  of  your  head,  once 
and  for  all." 

Now  blow,  breezes,  blow  !  W^hat  is  the  great  headland  that 
appears,  striking  out  into  the  wide  Atlantic  ? 

"  Ahead  she  goes  !  the  land  she  knows ! 
Behold !  the  snowy  shores  of  Canna — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen ! 
A  long,  strong  pull  together — 
Ho,  ro,  clansmen !" 

"  Tom  Galbraith,"  the  Laird  is  saying,  solemnly,  to  his  hostess, 
"  has  assured  me  that  Rum  is  the  most  picturesque  island  on  the 


60  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

whole  of  the  western  coast  of  Scotland,  That  is  his  deleeberate 
opinion.  And  indeed  I  would  not  go  so  far  as  to  say  he  was 
wrong.  Arran !  They  talk  about  Arran  !  Just  look  at  those 
splendid  mountains  coming  sheer  down  to  the  sea,  and  tlie  light 
of  the  sun  on  them  !  Eh  me,  what  a  sunset  there  will  be  this 
night !" 

"  Canna  ?"  says  Dr.  Sutherland,  to  his  interlocutor,  who  seems 
very  anxious  to  be  instructed.  "  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Canna  in 
Gaelic  is  simply  a  can ;  but  then  Gana  is  a  whale ;  and  the  isl- 
and in  the  distance  looks  long  and  flat  on  the  water.  Or  it  may 
be  from  canach — that  is  the  moss-cotton  ;  or  from  cannach — that 
is  the  sweet  gale.  You  see,  Miss  Avon,  ignorant  people  have  an 
ample  choice." 

Blow,  breezes,  blow !  as  the  yellow  light  of  the  afternoon 
shines  over  the  broad  Atlantic.  Here  are  the  eastern  shores  of 
Canna,  high  and  rugged  and  dark  with  caves ;  and  there  the 
western  shores  of  Rum,  the  mighty  mountains  aglow  in  the  even- 
ing light.  And  this  remote  and  solitary  little  bay,  with  its  green 
headlands,  and  its  awkward  rocks  at  the  mouth,  and  the  one 
house*  presiding  over  it  among  that  shining  wilderness  of  shrubs 
and  flowers?     Here  is  fair  shelter  for  the  night. 

After  dinner,  in  the  lambent  twilight,  we  set  out  with  the  gig, 
and  there  was  much  preparation  of  elaborate  contrivances  for  the 
entrapping  of  fish.  But  the  Laird's  occuU-  and  intricate  tackle — 
the  spinning  minnows  and  spoons  and  India-rubber  sand-eels — 
proved  no  competitor  for  the  couple  of  big  white  flies  that  An- 
gus Sutherland  had  busked.  And  of  course  Mary  Avon  had  that 
rod ;  and  when  some  huge  lithe  dragged  the  end  of  tlie  rod  fair- 
ly under  water,  and  when  she  cried  aloud,  "  Oh !  ohl  I  can't 
hold  it ;  he'll  break  the  rod !"  then  arose  Brosc's  word  of  com- 
mand: 

"  Haul  him  in  !  Shove  out  the  butt !  No  scientific  playing 
with  a  lithe!  Well  done! — well  done! — a  five-pounder,  I'll  bet 
ten  farthings !" 

It  was  not  scientific  fishing;  but  we  got  big  fish — which  is  of 
more  importance  in  the  eyes  of  Master  Fred.  And  then,  as  the 
night  fell,  we  set  out  again  for  the  yacht ;  and  the  doctor  pulled 

*  Sir,  our  gnititiide  to  you  !  IJetter  milk,  iuul  more  welcome,  never  ciime 
from  any  dairy. 


A    WILD    STUDIO.  61 

stroke ;  and  he  sang  some  verses  of  tlie  hiorlinn  song  as  the 
blades  dashed  fire  into  the  rushing  sea : 

"  Proudly  o'er  the  waves  we'll  bovind  her, 
As  the  stag-hound  bounds  the  heather — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen  I 
A  long,  strong  pull  together — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen ! 
Through  the  eddying  tide  we'll  guide  her, 
Kouud  each  isle  and  breezy  headland — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen ! 
A  long,  strong  pull  together — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen !" 

The  yellow  lamp  at  the  bow  of  the  yacht  grew  larger  and  larger; 
the  hull  of  the  boat  looked  black  between  us  and  the  starlit 
heavens ;  as  we  clambered  on  board  there  was  a  golden  glow 
from  the  saloon  skylight.  And  then,  during  the  long  and  happy 
evening,  amidst  all  the  whist-playing  and  other  amusements  going 
forward,  what  about  certain  timid  courtesies  and  an  occasional 
shy  glance  between  those  two  young  people  ?  Some  of  us  began 
to  think  that  if  the  Laird's  scheme  was  to  come  to  anything,  it 
was  high  time  that  Mr.  Howard  Smith  put  in  an  appearance. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A     WILD      STUDIO. 


There  is  a  fine  bustle  of  preparation  next  morning — for  the 
gig  is  w'aiting  by  the  side  of  the  yacht,  and  Dr.  Sutherland  is 
carefully  getting  our  artist's  materials  into  the  stern ;  and  the 
Laird  is  busy  with  shawls  and  water-proofs ;  and  Master  Fred 
brings  along  the  luncheon  basket.  Our  admiral-in-chief  prefers 
to  stay  on  board ;  she  has  letters  to  write ;  there  are  enough  of 
us  to  go  and  be  tossed  on  the  Atlantic  swell  off  the  great  caves 
of  Canna. 

And  as  the  men  strike  their  oars  in  the  water,  and  we  have  a 
last  adieu,  the  Laird  catches  a  glimpse  of  our  larder  at  the  stern 
of  the  yacht.  Alas  !  there  is  but  one  remaining  piece  of  fresh 
meat  hanging  there  under  the  white  canvas. 

"  It  reminds  me,"  says  he,  beginning  to  laugh  alrcad}',  "  of  a 


62  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

good  one  that  Tom  Galbraith  told  me  —  a  real  good  one  that 
was.  Tom  had  a  little  bit  yacht  that  his  man  and  himself  sailed 
when  he  was  painting,  ye  know  ;  and  one  day  they  got  into  a 
bay  where  Duncan — that  was  the  man's  name — had  some  friends 
ashore.  Tom  left  him  in  charge  of  the  yacht ;  and — and — ha  ! 
ha !  ha ! — there  was  a  leg  of  mutton  hanging  at  the  stern.  Well, 
Tom  was  rowed  ashore ;  and  painted  all  day ;  and  came  back  to 
the  yacht  in  the  afternoon.  There  ivas  no  leg  of  mutton! 
'  Duncan,'  says  he,  '  where  is  the  leg  of  mutton  ?'  Duncan  pre- 
tended to  be  vastly  surprised.  '  Iss  it  away  ?'  says  he.  'Away?' 
says  Tom ;  '  don't  you  see  it  is  away  ?  I  want  to  know  who 
took  it.'  Duncan  looked  all  round  him — at  the  sea  and  the  sky 
— and  then  says  he — then  says  he,  '  Maybe  it  wass  a  dog !' — ha ! 
ha  !  hee !  hee  !  hee  ! — '  maybe  it  wass  a  dog,'  says  he  ;  and  they 
were  half  a  mile  from  the  shore !  I  never  see  the  canvas  at  the 
stern  of  a  yacht  without  thinking  o'  Tom  Galbraith  and  the  leg 
of  mutton ;"  and  here  the  Laird  laughed  long  and  loud  again. 

"  I  have  heard  you  speak  once  or  twice  about  Tom  Galbraith," 
remarked  our  young  doctor,  without  meaning  the  least  sarcasm  : 
"  he  is  an  artist,  I  suppose  ?" 

The  Laird  stopped  laughing.  There  was  a  look  of  indignant 
wonder — approaching  to  horror — on  his  face.  But  when  he  pro- 
ceeded, with  some  dignity  and  even  resentment,  to  explain  to  this 
ignorant  person  the  immense  importance  of  the  school  that  Tom 
Galbraith  had  been  chiefly  instrumental  in  forming,  and  the  high 
qualities  of  that  artist's  personal  work,  and  how  the  members  of 
the  Royal  Academy  shook  in  their  shoes  at  the  mere  mention 
of  Tom  Galbraith's  name,  he  became  more  pacified ;  for  Angus 
Sutherland  listened  with  great  respect,  and  even  promised  to  look 
out  for  Mr.  Galbraith's  work  if  he  passed  through  Edinburgh  on 
his  way  to  the  South. 

The  long,  swinging  stroke  of  the  men  soon  took  us  round  the 
successive  headlands,  until  we  were  once  more  in  the  open,  with 
the  mountains  of  Skye  in  the  north,  and  far  away  at  the  horizon 
a  pale  line  which  we  knew  to  be  North  Utsi.  And  now  the 
green  shores  of  Canna  were  becoming  more  precipitous ;  and 
there  was  a  roaring  of  the  sea  along  the  spurs  of  black  rock ;  and 
the  long  Atlantic  swell,  breaking  on  the  bows  of  the  gig,  was 
sending  a  little  more  spray  over  us  than  was  at  all  desirable. 
Certainly  no  one  who  could  have  seen  the  doctor  at  this  moment 


A    WILD    STUDIO.  63 

— with  his  fresh-colored  face  dripping  with  the  salt-water  and 
shining  in  the  sunlight — would  have  taken  him  for  a  hard-worked 
and  anxious  student.  His  hard  work  was  pulling  stroke  oar,  and 
he  certainly  put  his  shoulders  into  it,  as  the  Laird  had  remarked ; 
and  his  sole  anxiety  was  about  Mary  Avon's  art  materials.  That 
young  lady  shook  the  water  from  the  two  blank  canvases,  and 
declared  it  did  not  matter  a  bit. 

These  lonely  cliffs !  —  becoming  more  grim  and  awful  every 
moment,  as  this  mite  of  a  boat  still  wrestles  with  the  great  waves, 
and  makes  its  way  along  the  coast.  And  yet  there  are  tender 
greens  where  the  pasturage  appears  on  the  high  plateaus,  and 
there  is  a  soft,  ruddy  hue  where  the  basalt  shines.  The  gloom 
of  the  picture  appears  below — in  the  caves  washed  out  of  the 
conglomerate  by  the  heavy  seas ;  in  the  spurs  and  fantastic  pil- 
lars and  arches  of  the  black  rock ;  and  in  this  leaden-hued  Atlan- 
tic springing  high  over  every  obstacle  to  go  roaring  and  booming 
into  the  caverns.  And  these  innumerable  white  specks  on  the 
sparse  green  plateaus  and  on  this  high  promontory :  can  they  be 
mushrooms  in  millions?  Suddenly  one  of  the  men  lifts  his  oar 
from  the  rowlock,  and  rattles  it  on  the  rail  of  the  gig.  At  this 
sound  a  cloud  rises  from  the  black  rocks ;  it  spreads ;  the  next 
moment  the  air  is  darkened  over  our  heads ;  and  almost  before 
we  know  what  has  happened,  this  vast  multitude  of  puffins  has 
wheeled  by  us,  and  wheeled  again  farther  out  to  sea — a  smoke 
of  birds  !  And  as  we  watch  them,  behold  !  stragglers  come  back 
— in  thousands  upon  thousands,  the  air  is  filled  with  them — some 
of  them  swooping  so  near  us  that  we  can  see  the  red  parrot-like 
beak  and  the  orange-hued  web-feet,  and  then  again  the  green 
shelves  of  grass  and  the  pinnacles  of  rock  become  dotted  with 
those  white  specks.  The  myriads  of  birds ;  the  black  caverns ; 
the  arches  and  spurs  of  rock ;  the  leaden-hued  Atlantic  bounding 
and  springing  in  white  foam :  what  says  Mary  Avon  to  that  ? 
Has  she  the  courage  ? 

"  If  you  can  put  me  ashore  ?"  says  she. 

"  Oh,  we  will  get  yon  ashore  somehow,"  Dr.  Sutherland  an- 
swers. 

But,  indeed,  the  nearer  we  approach  that  ugly  coast,  the  less 
we  like  the  look  of  it.  Again  and  again  we  make  for  what 
should  be  a  sheltered  bit ;  but  long  before  we  can  get  to  land  we 
can  see  through  the  plunging  sea  great  masses  of  yellow,  which 


64  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

we  know  to  be  the  barnacled  rock ;  and  then  ahead  we  find  a 
shore  that,  in  this  heavy  surf,  would  make  match-wood  of  the  gig 
in  three  seconds.  Brose,  however,  will  not  give  in.  If  he  cannot 
get  the  gig  on  to  any  beach  or  into  any  creek  he  will  land  our 
artist  somehow.  And  at  last — and  in  spite  of  the  remonstrances 
of  John  of  Skye — he  insists  on  having  the  boat  backed  in  to  a 
projecting  mass  of  conglomerate,  all  yellowed  over  with  small 
shell-fish,  against  which  the  sea  is  beating  heavily.  It  is  an  ugly 
landing-place ;  we  can  see  the  yellow  rock  go  sheer  down  in  the 
clear  green  sea;  and  the  surf  is  spouting  up  the  side  in  white 
jets.  But  if  she  can  watch  a  high  wave,  and  put  her  foot  there 
— and  there — will  she  not  find  herself  directly  on  a  plateau  of 
rock  at  least  twelve  feet  square  ? 

"Back  her,  John ! — back  her!"  and  therewith  the  doctor, 
watching  his  chance,  scrambles  out  and  up  to  demonstrate  the 
feasibility  of  the  thing.  And  the  easel  is  handed  out  to  him ; 
and  the  palette  and  canvases ;  and  finally  Mary  Avon  herself. 
Nay,  even  the  Laird  will  adventure,  sending  on  before  him  the 
luncheon  basket. 

It  is  a  strange  studio — this  projecting  shell-crusted  rock,  sur- 
rounded on  three  sides  by  the  sea,  and  on  the  fourth  by  an  im- 
passable cliff.  And  the  sounds  beneath  our  feet — there  must  be 
some  subterranean  passage  or  cave  into  which  the  sea  roars  and 
booms.  But  Angus  Sutherland  rigs  up  the  easel  rapidly,  and  ar- 
ranges the  artist's  camp-stool,  and  sets  her  fairly  agoing ;  then  he 
proposes  to  leave  the  Laird  in  charge  of  her.  He  and  the  hum- 
ble chronicler  of  the  adventures  of  these  people  mean  to  have 
some  further  explorations  of  this  wild  coast. 

But  we  had  hardly  gone  a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  so — it  was  hard 
work  pulling  in  this  heavy  sea — when  the  experienced  eye  of 
Sandy  from  Islay  saw  that  something  was  wrong. 

"  What's  that  ?"  he  said,  staring. 

We  turned  instantly,  and  strove  to  look  through  the  mists  of 
spray.  Where  we  had  left  the  Laird  and  Mary  Avon  there  were 
now  visible  only  two  mites,  apparently  not  bigger  than  puflBns. 
But  is  not  one  of  the  puflins  gesticulating  wihlly  ? 

"Round  with  her,  John !"  the  doctor  calls  out,  "They  want 
us — I'm  sure." 

And  away  the  gig  goes  again — plunging  into  the  great  troughs, 
and  then  swinging  up  to  the  giddy  crests.     And  as  we  get  nearer 


A    WILD    STUDIO.  65 

and  nearer,  what  is  tlic  meaning  of  the  Laird's  frantic  gestures? 
We  cannot  understand  him ;  and  it  is  impossible  to  hear,  for  tlie 
booming  of  the  sea  into  the  caves  drowns  liis  voice. 

"  He  has  lost  his  hat,"  says  Angus  Sutherland.  And  then,  tlie 
next  second,  "  Where's  the  easel  ?" 

Then  we  understand  those  wild  gestures.  Pull  away,  merry 
men!  for  has  not  a  squall  swept  the  studio  of  its  movables? 
And  there,  sure  enough,  tossing  high  and  low  on  the  waves,  we 
descry  a  variety  of  things — an  easel,  two  canvases,  a  hat,  a  veil, 
and  what  not.  Up  with  the  boat-hook  to  the  bow !  and  gently 
with  those  plunges,  most  accurate  Hector  of  Moidart ! 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  says  (or  rather  shrieks),  when  her  drip- 
ping property  is  restored  to  her. 

"  It  was  ray  fault,"  our  doctor  yells  ;  "  but  I  will  undertake  to 
fasten  your  easel  properly  this  time" — and  therewith  he  fetches 
a  lump  of  rock  that  might  have  moored  a  man-of-war. 

We  stay  and  have  luncheon  in  this  gusty  and  thunderous 
studio — though  Mary  Avon  will  scarcely  turn  from  her  canvas. 
And  there  is  no  painting  of  pink  geraniums  about  this  young- 
woman's  work.  We  see  already  that  she  has  got  a  thorough  grip 
of  this  cold,  hard  coast  (the  sun  is  obscured  now,  and  the  various 
hues  are  more  sombre  than  ever) ;  and  though  she  has  not  had 
time  as  yet  to  try  to  catch  the  motion  of  the  rolling  sea,  she  has 
got  the  color  of  it — a  leaden  gray,  with  glints  of  blue  and  white, 
and  with  here  and  there  a  sudden  splash  of  deep,  rich,  glassy  bot- 
tle-green, where  some  wave  for  a  moment  catches,  just  as  it  gets  to 
the  shore,  a  reflection  from  the  grass  plateaus  above.  Very  good. 
Miss  Avon ;  very  good — but  we  pretend  that  we  are  not  looking. 

Then  away  we  go  again,  to  leave  the  artist  to  her  work ;  and 
we  go  as  near  as  possible — the  high  sea  will  not  allow  us  to  enter 
— the  vast  black  caverns ;  and  we  watch  through  the  clear  water 
for  those  masses  of  yellow  rock.  And  then  the  multitudes  of 
white-breasted,  red-billed  birds  perched  up  there — close  to  the 
small  burrows  in  the  scant  grass;  they  jerk  their  heads  about  in 
a  watchful  way,  just  like  the  prairie-dogs  at  the  mouth  of  their 
sandy  habitations  on  the  Colorado  plains.  And  then  again  a 
hundred  or  two  of  them  come  swooping  down  from  the  rocky 
pinnacles  and  sail  over  our  heads — twinkling  bits  of  color  between 
the  gray-green  sea  and  the  blue  and  white  of  the  sky.  They 
resent  the  presence  of  strangers  in  this  far  home  of  the  sea-birds. 

4 


66  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

It  is  a  terrible  business  getting  that  young  lady  and  her  para- 
pliernalia  back  into  the  gig  again  ;  for  the  sea  is  still  heavy,  and, 
of  course,  additional  care  has  now  to  be  taken  of  the  precious 
canvas.  But  at  last  she,  and  the  Laird,  and  the  luncheon  basket, 
and  everything  else,  have  been  got  on  board ;  and  away  we  go 
for  the  yacht  again  in  the  now  clearing  afternoon.  As  we  draw 
farther  away  from  the  roar  of  the  caves,  it  is  more  feasible  to 
talk ;  and  naturally  we  are  all  very  complimentary  about  Mary 
Avon's  sketch  in  oils. 

"  Ay,"  says  the  Laird,  "  and  it  wants  but  one  thing ;  and  I  am 
sure  I  could  get  Tom  Galbraith  to  put  that  in  for  you.  A  bit 
of  a  yacht,  ye  know,  or  other  sailing  vessel,  put  below  the  cliffs, 
would  give  people  a  notion  of  the  height  of  the  cliffs,  do  ye  see? 
I  am  sure  I  could  get  Tom  Galbraith  to  put  that  in  for  ye." 

"  I  hope  Miss  Avon  won't  let  Tom  Galbraith  or  anybody  else 
meddle  with  the  picture,"  says  Angus  Sutherland,  with  some 
emphasis.  "  Why,  a  yacht !  Do  you  think  anybody  would  let 
a  yacht  come  close  to  rocks  like  these?  As  soon  as  you  in- 
troduce any  making-up  like  that,  the  picture  is  a  sham.  It  is 
the  real  thing  now,  as  it  stands.  Twenty  years  hence  you  could 
take  up  that  piece  of  canvas,  and  there  before  you  would  be  the 
very  day  that  you  spent  here;  it  would  be  like  finding  your  old 
life  of  twenty  years  before  opened  up  to  you  with  a  lightning 
flash.  The  picture  is  —  why,  I  should  say  it  is  invaluable,  as  it 
stands." 

At  this  somewhat  fierce  praise  Mary  Avon  colors  a  little.  And 
then  she  says,  with  a  gentle  hypocrisy, 

"  Oh,  do  you  really  think  there  is — there  is — some  likeness  to 
the  place  ?" 

"  It  is  the  place  itself  !"  says  he,  warmly. 

"  Because,"  she  says,  timidly,  and  yet  with  a  smile,  "  one  likes 
to  have  one's  work  appreciated,  however  stupid  it  may  be.  And 
— and  if  you  think  that — would  you  like  to  have  it?  Because 
I  should  be  so  proud  if  you  would  take  it — only  I  am  ashamed 
to  offer  my  sketches  to  anybody — " 

"  That !"  said  he,  staring  at  the  canvas  as  if  the  mines  of 
Golconda  were  suddenly  opened  to  him.  But  then  he  drew  back. 
"  Oh  no,"  he  said  ;  "  you  are  very  kind  ;  but — but,  you  know,  I 
cannot.     You  would  think  I  had  been  asking  for  it." 

"  Well,"  says    Miss   Avon,  still   looking   down,  "  I   never   was 


A    WILD    STUDIO.  67 

treated  like  this  before.  You  won't  take  it?  You  don't  tliiiik 
it  is  worth  putting  in  your  portmanteau." 

At  this  the  young  doctor's  face  grew  very  red ;  but  he  said, 
boldly, 

"Very  well,  now,  if  you  have  been  playing  fast  and  loose,  you 
sliall  be  punished.  I  ivill  take  the  picture,  whether  you  grudge 
it  me  or  not.     And  I  don't  mean  to  give  it  up  now." 

"  Oh,"  said  she,  very  gently,  "  if  it  reminds  you  of  the  place, 
I  shall  be  very  pleased  ;  and — and  it  may  remind  you  too  that  I 
am  not  likely  to  forget  your  kindness  to  poor  Mrs.  Thompson." 

And  so  this  little  matter  was  amicably  settled  —  though  the 
Laird  looked  with  a  covetous  eye  on  that  rough  sketch  of  the 
rocks  of  Canna,  and  regretted  that  he  was  not  to  be  allowed  to 
ask  Tom  Galbraith  to  put  in  a  touch  or  two.  And  so  back  to 
the  yacht,  and  to  dinner  in  the  silver-clear  evening;  and  how 
beautiful  looked  this  calm  bay  of  Canna,  with  its  glittering  waters 
and  green  shores,  after  the  grim  rocks  and  the  heavy  Atlantic 
waves ! 

That  evening  we  pursued  the  innocent  lithe  again — our  lard- 
er was  becoming  terribly  empty — and  there  was  a  fine  take.  But 
of  more  interest  to  some  of  us  than  the  big  fish  was  the  extraor- 
dinary wonder  of  color  in  sea  and  sky  when  the  sun  had  gone 
down ;  and  there  was  a  wail  on  the  part  of  the  Laird  that  Mary 
Avon  had  not  her  colors  with  her  to  put  down  some  jotting  for 
further  use.  Or  if  on  paper :  might  not  she  write  down  some- 
thing of  what  she  saw,  and  experiment  thereafter?  Well,  if  any 
artist  can  make  head  or  tail  of  words  in  such  a  case  as  this,  here 
they  are  for  him — as  near  as  our  combined  forces  of  observation 
could  go : 

The  vast  plain  of  water  around  us  a  blaze  of  salmon  red,  with 
the  waves  (catching  the  reflection  of  the  zenith)  marked  in  hori- 
zontal lines  of  blue.  The  great  headland  of  Canna,  between  us 
and  the  western  sky,  a  mass  of  dark,  intense  olive  green.  The 
sky  over  that  a  pale,  clear  lemon  yellow.  But  the  great  feature 
of  this  evening  scene  was  a  mass  of  cloud  that  stretched  all 
across  the  heavens — a  mass  of  flaming,  thunderous,  orange -red 
cloud  that  began  in  the  far  pale  mists  in  the  east,  and  carae 
across  the  blue  zenith  overhead,  burning  with  a  splendid  glory 
there,  and  then  stretched  over  to  the  west,  where  it  narrowed 
down  and  was  lost  in  the  calm,  clear  gold  of  the  horizon.     The 


68  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

splendor  of  tins  e;reat  cloud  was  bewildering  to  the  eyes ;  one 
turned  gratefully  to  tbe  reflection  of  it  in  the  sultry  red  of  the 
sea  below,  broken  by  the  blue  lines  of  waves.  Our  attention 
was  not  wholly  given  to  the  fishing  or  the  boat  on  this  lambent 
evening  :  perhaps  that  was  the  reason  we  ran  on  a  rock,  and  with 
difiiculty  got  off  again. 

Then  back  to  the  yacht  again  about  eleven  o'clock.  What  is 
this  terrible  news  from  Master  Fred,  who  was  sent  off  with  in- 
structions to  hunt  up  any  stray  crofter  he  might  find,  and  use 
such  persuasions  in  the  shape  of  Gaelic  friendliness  and  English 
money  as  would  enable  us  to  replenish  our  larder  ?  What !  that 
he  had  walked  two  miles  and  seen  nothing  eatable  or  purchasable 
but  an  old  hen  ?  Canna  is  a  beautiful  place ;  but  we  begin  to 
think  it  is  time  to  be  off. 

On  this  still  night,  with  the  stars  coming  out,  we  cannot  go 
below.  We  sit  on  deck  and  listen  to  the  musical  whisper  along 
the  shore,  and  watch  one  golden-yellow  planet  rising  over  the 
dusky  peaks  of  Rum,  far  in  the  east.  And  our  young  doctor  is 
talking  of  the  pathetic  notices  that  are  common  in  the  Scotch 
papers — in  the  advertisements  of  deaths.  "iVew  Zealand  papers, 
please  cop)/."  ^^  Canadian  pape)'s,  please  copy."  When  you  see 
this  prayer  appended  to  the  announcement  of  the  death  of  some 
old  woman  of  seventy  or  seventy-five,  do  you  not  know  that  it  is 
a  message  to  loved  ones  in  distant  climes,  wanderers  who  may 
forget  but  who  have  not  been  forgotten  ?  They  are  messages 
that  tell  of  a  scattered  race — of  a  race  that  once  filled  the  glens 
of  these  now  almost  deserted  islands.  And  surely,  when  some 
birthday  or  other  time  of  recollection  comes  round,  those  far 
away, 

"  Where  wild  Altania  murmurs  to  their  woe," 

must  surely  bethink  themselves  of  the  old  people  left  behind — 
livmg  in  Glasgow  or  Greenock  now,  perhaps — and  must  bethink 
themselves,  too,  of  the  land  where  last  they  saw  the  bonny  red 
heather,  and  where  last  they  heard  the  pipes  playing  the  sad 
"  Farewell,  MacCruimin,"as  the  ship  stood  out  to  sea.  They  can- 
not quite  forget  the  scenes  of  their  youth — the  rough  seas  and 
the  red  heather  and  the  islands;  the  wild  dancing  at  the  wed- 
dings; the  secret  meetings  in  the  glen  with  Ailasa,  or  Morag,  or 
Mairi,  come  down  from  the  sheiling,  all  alone,  a  shawl  round  her 


"  DUNVEGAN  ! Oil  !  DUNVEGAN  !"  09 

licad  to  shelter  her  from  the  rain,  her  heart  fluttering  like  the 
heart  of  a  timid  fawn.     They  cannot  forget. 

And  we,  too,  we  are  going  away ;  and  it  may  be  that  we  shall 
never  see  this  beautiful  bay  or  the  island  there  again.  But  one 
of  us  carries  away  with  him  a  talisman  for  the  sudden  revival 
of  old  memories.  And  twenty  years  hence — that  was  his  own 
phrase — what  will  Angus  Sutherland — perhaps  a  very  great  and 
rich  person  by  that  time — what  will  he  think  when  he  turns  to  a 
certain  picture,  and  recalls  the  long  summer  day  when  he  rowed 
with  Mary  Avon  round  the  wild  shores  of  Canna  ? 


CHAPTER  X. 

**  DUNVEGAN  ! OH  !    DUNVEGAN  !" 

Commander  Mary  Avon  sends  her  orders  below :  everything 
to  be  made  snug  in  the  cabins,  for  there  is  a  heavy  sea  running 
outside,  and  the  White  Dove  is  already  under  way.  Farewell, 
then,  you  beautiful  blue  bay  —  all  rippled  into  silver  now  with 
the  breeze — and  green  shores  and  picturesque  cliffs !  We  should 
have  lingered  here  another  day  or  two,  perhaps,  but  for  the  re- 
port about  that  one  old  hen.  We  cannot  ration  passengers  and 
crew  on  one  old  hen. 

And  here,  as  we  draw  away  from  Canna,  is  the  vast  panorama 
of  the  sea- world  around  us  once  more  —  the  mighty  mountain 
range  of  Skye  shining  faintly  in  the  northern  skies ;  Haleval 
and  Ilaskeval  still  of  a  gloomy  purple  in  the  east ;  and  away  be- 
yond these  leagues  of  rushing  Atlantic  the  pale  blue  line  of  North 
Uist.  Whither  are  we  bound,  then,  you  small  captain  with  the 
pale  face  and  the  big,  soft,  tender  black  eyes?  Do  you  fear  a 
shower  of  spray,  that  you  have  strapped  that  tightly  fitting  Ulster 
round  the  graceful  small  figure?  And  are  you  quite  sure  that 
you  know  whether  the  wind  is  on  tlie  port  or  starboard  beam  ? 

"  Look  !  look  !  look  !"  she  calls,  and  our  F.R.S.,  who  has  been 
busy  over  the  charts,  jumps  to  his  feet. 

Just  at  the  bow  of  the  vessel  we  see  the  great  shining  black 
thing  disappeai*.     What  if  there  liad  been  a  collision  ? 

"You  cannot  call  that  a  porpoise,  anyway,"  says  she.  "Why, 
it  must  have  been  eighty  feet  long  1" 


70  WHITE  wings:   a  yachting  romance. 

"Yes,  yacht  measurement,"  says  he.  "But  it  had  a  back  fin, 
which  is  suspicious,  and  it  did  not  blow.  Now,"  he  adds — for 
we  have  been  looking  all  round  for  the  reappearance  of  the  huge 
stranger — "  if  you  want  to  see  real  whales  at  work,  just  look  over 
there,  close  under  Rum.  I  should  say  there  was  a  whole  shoal 
of  them  in  the  Sound." 

And  there,  sure  enough,  we  see  from  time  to  time  the  white 
spoutings — rising  high  into  the  air  in  the  form  of  the  letter  V, 
and  slowly  falling  again.  They  are  too  far  away  for  us  to  liear 
the  sound  of  their  blowing,  nor  can  we  catch  any  glimpse,  through 
the  best  of  our  glasses,  of  their  appearance  at  the  surface.  More- 
over, the  solitary  stranger  that  nearly  ran  against  our  bows  makes 
no  reappearance ;  he  has  had  enough  of  the  wonders  of  the 
upper  world  for  a  time. 

It  is  a  fine  sailing  morning,  and  we  pay  but  little  attention  to 
the  fact  that  the  wind,  as  usual,  soon  gets  to  be  dead  ahead.  So 
long  as  the  breeze  blows,  and  the  sun  shines,  and  tlie  white  spray 
flies  from  the  bows  of  the  White  Dove,  what  care  we  which  har- 
bor is  to  shelter  us  for  the  night  ?  And  if  we  cannot  get  into 
any  harbor,  what  then  ?  We  carry  our  own  kingdom  with  us ; 
and  we  are  far  from  being  dependent  on  the  one  old  hen. 

But  in  the  midst  of  much  laughing  at  one  of  the  Laird's  good 
ones — the  inexhaustible  Ilomesh  was  again  to  the  fore — a  head 
appears  at  the  top  of  the  companion-way,  and  there  is  a  respect- 
ful silence.  Unseemly  mirth  dies  away  before  the  awful  dignity 
of  this  person. 

"Angus,"  she  says,  with  a  serious  remonstrance  on  her  face, 
"do  you  believe  what  scientific  people  tell  you?" 

Angus  Sutherland  starts,  and  looks  up ;  he  has  been  deep  in  a 
chart  of  Loch  Bracadaile. 

"  Don't  they  say  that  water  finds  its  own  level  ?  Now  do  you 
call  this  water  finding  its  own  level  ?" — and  as  she  projiounds  this 
conundrum,  she  clings  on  tightly  to  the  side  of  the  companion, 
foi',  in  truth,  the  White  Dove  is  curvetting  a  good  deal  among 
tliosc  groat  masses  of  waves. 

"Another  tumbler  broken  !"  she  exclaims.  "Now  who  left 
that  tumbler  on  the  table  ?" 

"  I  know,"  says  Mary  Avon. 

"  Who  was  it,  then  ?"  says  the  occui)ant  of  the  companion-way  ; 
and  we  begin  to  tremble  for  the  culprit. 


"uUNVEGAn! — OH  I     DUNVEGAN  !"  Tl 

"  Why,  5'^oii  yourself  !" 

"  Mary  Avon,  how  can  you  tell  sucli  a  story  !"  says  the  other, 
with  a  stern  face. 

"  Oh,  but  that  is  so,"  calls  out  our  doctor,  "  for  I  myself  saw 
you  bring  the  tumbler  out  of  the  ladies'  cabin  with  water  for  the 
flowers." 

The  universal  shout  of  laughter  that  overwhelms  Madame  Dig- 
nity is  too  much  for  her.  A  certain  conscious,  lurking  smile  be- 
gins to  break  through  the  sternness  of  her  face. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,"  she  declares,  firing  a  shot  as  she 
retreats.  "  Not  a  word  of  it.  You  are  two  conspirators.  To 
tell  such  a  story  about  a  tumbler — " 

But  at  this  moment  a  further  assault  is  made  on  the  majesty 
of  this  imperious  small  personage.  There  is  a  thunder  at  the 
bows ;  a  rattling  as  of  pistol-shots  on  the  decks  forward ;  and  at 
the  same  moment  the  fag-ends  of  the  spray  come  flying  over  the 
after-part  of  the  yacht.  What  becomes  of  one's  dignity  when 
one  gets  a  shower  of  salt-water  over  one's  head  and  neck?  Go 
down  below,  madam  ! — retreat,  retreat  discomfited! — go,  dry  your 
face  and  your  bonny  brown  hair — and  bother  us  no  more  with 
your  broken  tumbler ! 

And  despite  those  plunging  seas  and  the  occasional  showers 
of  spray,  Mary  Avon  still  clings  bravely  to  the  rope  that  is  round 
the  tiller;  and  as  we  are  bearing  over  for  Skye  on  one  long  tack, 
she  has  no  need  to  change  her  position.  And  if  from  time  to 
time  her  face  gets  wet  with  the  salt-water,  is  it  not  quickly  dried 
again  in  the  warm  sun  and  the  breeze  ?  Sun  and  salt-water  and 
sea-air  will  soon  chase  away  the  pallor  from  that  gentle  face : 
cannot  one  observe  already — after  only  a  few  days'  sailing — a 
touch  of  sun-brown  on  her  cheeks  ? 

And  now  we  are  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  to  Skye,  and  be- 
fore us  lies  the  lonely  Loch  Breatal,  just  under  the  splendid  Coo- 
lins.  See  how  the  vast  slopes  of  the  mountains  appear  to  come 
sheer  down  to  the  lake ;  and  there  is  a  soft,  sunny  green  on  them 
— a  beautiful,  tender,  warm  color  that  befits  a  summer  day.  But 
far  above  and  beyond  those  sunny  slopes  a  different  sight  ap- 
pears. All  the  clouds  of  this  fair  day  have  gathered  round  the 
upper  portions  of  the  mountains ;  and  that  solitary  range  of 
black  and  jagged  peaks  is  dark  in  sliadow,  dark  as  if  with  the 
expectation  of  thunder.     The  Coolins  are  not  beloved  of  mari- 


72  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

ners.  Those  beautiful  sunlit  ravines  are  the  secret  haunts  of 
hurricanes  that  suddenly  come  out  to  strike  the  unwary  yachts- 
man as  with  the  blow  of  a  hammer.  Stand  hy,  forward,  then., 
lads  !  About  ship  !  Down  ivith  the  helm.,  Captain  Avon  ! — and 
behold !  we  are  sailing  away  from  the  black  Coolins,  and  ahead 
of  us  there  is  only  the  open  sea,  and  the  sunlight  shining  on  the 
far  cliffs  of  Canna. 

"  When  your  couree  is  due  north,"  remarks  Angus  Sutherland, 
who  has  relieved  Mary  Avon  at  the  helm,  "  and  when  the  wind 
is  due  north,  j'ou  get  a  good  deal  of  sailing  for  your  money." 

The  profound  truth  of  this  remark  becomes  more  and  more 
apparent  as  the  day  passes  in  a  series  of  long  tacks  which  do  not 
seem  to  be  bringing  those  far  headlands  of  Skye  much  nearer  to 
us.  And  if  we  are  beating  in  this  heavy  sea  all  day  and  night, 
is  there  not  a  chance  of  one  or  other  of  our  women-folk  collaps- 
ing ?     They  are  excellent  sailors,  to  be  sure ;  but — but — 

Dr.  Sutherland  is  consulted.  Dr.  Sutherland's  advice  is  prompt 
and  emphatic.  His  sole  and  only  precaution  against  sea-sickness 
is  simple:  resolute  eating  and  drinking.  Cure  for  sea-sickness, 
after  it  has  set  in,  he  declares  there  is  none :  to  prevent  it,  eat 
and  drink,  and  let  the  drink  be  brut  champagne.  So  our  two 
prisoners  are  ordered  below  to  undergo  that  punishment. 

And,  perhaps,  it  is  the  brat  champagne,  or  perhaps  it  is  merely 
the  snugness  of  our  little  luncheon  party,  that  prompts  Miss  Avon 
to  remark  on  the  exceeding  selfishness  of  yachting,  and  to  suggest 
a  proposal  that  fairly  takes  away  our  breath  by  its  audacity. 

"  Now,"  she  says,  cheerfully,  "  I  could  tell  you  how  you  could 
occupy  an  idle  day  on  board  a  yacht  so  that  you  would  give  a 
great  deal  of  happiness — quite  a  shock  of  delight — to  a  large 
number  of  people." 

Well,  we  are  all  attention. 

"At  what  cost?"  says  the  financier  of  our  party. 

"At  no  cost." 

This  is  still  more  promising.  Why  should  not  we  instantly 
set  about  making  all  those  people  happy  ? 

"All  that  you  have  got  to  do  is  to  get  a  copy  of  the  Field  or 
of  the  Times,  or  some  such  paper." 

Yes;  and  how  are  we  to  get  any  such  thing?  Rum  has  no 
post-office.  No  mail  calls  at  Canna.  Newspapers  do  not  grow 
on  the  rocks  of  Loch  Bracadaile. 


"  DUNVEGAN  ! OH  !     DUNVEGAN  !"  VS 

"  However,  let  us  suppose  that  we  have  the  paper." 

"  Very  well.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  sit  down  and  take  the 
advertisements,  and  write  to  the  people,  accepting  all  their  offers 
on  their  own  terms.  The  man  who  wants  £500  for  his  shoot- 
ing in  the  autumn  ;  the  man  who  will  sell  his  steam-yacht  for 
£7000 ;  the  curate  who  will  take  in  another  youth  to  board  at 
£200  a  year ;  the  lady  who  wants  to  let  her  country  house  dur- 
ing the  London  season;  all  the  people  who  are  anxious  to  sell 
things.  You  offer  to  take  them  all.  If  a  man  has  a  yacht  to 
let  on  hire,  you  will  pay  for  new  jerseys  for  the  men.  If  a  man 
has  a  house  to  be  let,  you  will  take  all  the  fixtures  at  his  own 
valuation.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  write  two  or  three  hundred 
letters — as  an  anonymous  person,  of  course — and  you  make  two 
or  three  hundred  people  quite  delighted  for  perhaps  a  whole 
week !" 

The  Laird  stared  at  this  young  lady  as  if  she  iiad  gone  mad ; 
but  there  was  only  a  look  of  complacent  friendliness  on  Mary 
Avon's  face. 

"  You  mean  that  you  write  sham  letters  ?"  says  her  hostess. 
"  You  gull  those  unfortunate  people  into  believing  that  all  their 
wishes  are  I'calized  ?" 

"  But  you  make  them  happy,"  says  Mary  Avon,  confidently. 

"  Yes — and  the  disappointment  afterward  !"  retorts  her  friend, 
almost  with  indignation.  "  Imagine  their  disappointment  when 
they  find  they  have  been  duped !  Of  course  they  would  write 
letters  and  discover  that  the  anonymous  person  had  no  exist- 
ence." 

"  Oh  no !"  says  Mary  Avon,  eagerly.  "  There  could  be  no 
such  great  disappointment.  The  happiness  would  be  definite 
and  real  for  the  time.  The  disappointment  would  only  be  a 
slow  and  gradual  thing  when  they  found  no  answer  coming  to 
their  letter.  You  would  make  them  happy  for  a  whole  week  or 
so  by  accepting  their  offer ;  whereas  by  not  answering  their  let- 
ter or  letters  you  would  only  puzzle  them,  and  the  matter  would 
drop  away  into  forgetfulness.  Do  you  not  think  it  would  be  an 
excellent  scheme  V 

Come  on  deck,  you  people ;  this  girl  has  got  demented.  And, 
behold !  as  we  emerge  once  more  into  the  sunlight  and  whirling 
spray  and  wind,  we  find  that  we  are  nearing  Skye  again  on  the 
port  tack,  and  now  it  is  the  mouth  of  Loch  Bracadailc  that  we 

4* 


74  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

are  approacliing.  And  these  pillars  of  rock,  outstanding  from 
the  cliffs,  and  worn  by  the  northern  seas? 

"  Why,  these  must  be  Macleod's  Maidens !"  says  Angus  Suth- 
erland, unrolling  one  of  the  charts. 

And  then  he  discourses  to  us  of  the  curious  fancies  of  sailors 
— passing  the  lonely  coasts  from  year  to  year,  and  recognizing  as 
old  friends,  not  any  living  thing,  but  the  strange  conformation 
of  the  rocks,  and  giving  to  these  the  names  of  persons  and  of 
animals.  And  he  thinks  there  is  something  more  weird  and 
striking  about  these  solitary  and  sea -worn  rocks  fronting  the 
great  Atlantic  than  about  any  comparatively  modern  Sphinx  or 
Pyramid ;  until  we  regard  the  sunlit  pillars,  and  their  fretted 
surface  and  their  sharp  shadows,  with  a  sort  of  morbid  imagina- 
tion ;  and  we  discover  how  the  sailors  have  fancied  them  to  be 
stone  women ;  and  we  see  in  the  largest  of  them — her  head  and 
shoulder  tilted  over  a  bit — some  resemblance  to  the  position  of 
the  Venus  discovered  at  Milo.  All  this  is  very  fine;  but  sud- 
denly the  sea  gets  darkened  over  there ;  a  squall  comes  roaring 
out  of  Loch  Bracadaile ;  John  of  Skye  orders  the  boat  about ; 
and  presently  we  are  running  free  before  this  puff  from  the 
north-cast.  Alas  !  alas !  we  have  no  sooner  got  out  of  the  reach 
of  the  squall  than  the  wind  backs  to  the  familiar  north,  and  our 
laborious  beating  has  to  be  continued  as  before. 

But  we  are  not  discontented.  Is  it  not  enough,  as  the  golden 
and  glowing  afternoon  wears  on,  to  listen  to  the  innocent  prattle 
of  Denny-mains,  whose  mind  has  been  fired  by  the  sight  of  those 
pillars  of  rock?  lie  tells  us  a  great  many  remarkable  things 
— about  the  similarity  between  Gaelic  and  Irish,  and  between 
Welsh  and  Armorican ;  and  he  discusses  the  use  of  the  Druidical 
stones,  as  to  whether  the  priests  followed  serpent-worship  or  de- 
voted these  circles  to  human  sacrifice.  He  tells  us  about  the 
Picts  and  Scots ;  about  Fingal  and  Ossian  ;  about  the  doings  of 
Arthur  in  his  kingdom  of  Strathclydc.  It  is  a  most  innocent 
sort  of  prattle. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  says  Brose,  quite  gravely,  though  we  are  not  quite 
sure  that  he  is  not  making  fun  of  our  simple-hearted  Laird, 
"there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  Aryan  race  that  first  swept 
over  Europe  spoke  a  Celtic  language,  more  or  less  akin  to  Gaelic, 
and  that  they  were  pushed  out,  by  successive  waves  of  popula- 
tion, into  Brittany,  and  Wales,  and  Ireland,  and  the  Highlands. 


ULXVEGAX  : Oil  ;     ULNVEGAN 


And  I  often  wonder  whether  it  was  they  themselves  that  modest- 
ly called  themselves  the  foreigners  or  strangers,  and  affixed  that 
name  to  the  land  they  laid  hold  of,  from  Galicia  and  Gaul  to 
Galloway  and  Gal  way  ?  The  Gaelic  word  gall,  a  stranger,  you  find 
everywhere.  Fingal  himself  is  only  Fionn-fjaU — the  Fair  Stran- 
ger;  Dubh-gall  —  that  is  the  familiar  Diigald  —  or  the  Black 
Stranger  —  is  what  the  Islay  people  call  a  Lowlander.  Ru-na- 
Gaul,  ih&t  wc  passed  the  other  day  —  that  is  the  Foreigner's 
Point.  I  think  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  tribes  that  first 
brought  Arvan  civilization  through  the  west  of  Europe  spoke 
Gaelic  or  something  like  Gaelic." 

"Ay,"  said  the  Laird,  doubtfully.  He  was  not  sure  of  this 
young  man.  He  had  heard  something  about  Gaelic  being  spo- 
ken in -the  Garden  of  Eden,  and  suspected  there  might  be  a  joke 
lying  about  somewhere. 

However,  there  was  no  joking  about  our  F.R.S.  when  he  be- 
gan to  tell  Mary  Avon  how,  if  he  had  time  and  sufficient  interest 
in  such  things,  he  would  set  to  work  to  study  the  Basque  people 
and  their  language — that  strange  remnant  of  the  old  race  who 
inhabited  the  west  of  Europe  long  before  Scot,  or  Briton,  or 
Roman,  or  Teuton  had  made  his  appearance  on  the  scene.  Might 
they  not  have  traditions,  or  customs,  or  verbal  survivals  to  tell  us 
of  their  prehistoric  forefathers  ?  The  Laird  seemed  quite  shock- 
ed to  hear  that  his  favorite  Picts  and  Scots — and  Fingal  and  Ar- 
thur and  all  the  rest  of  them — were  mere  modern  interlopers. 
What  of  the  mysterious  race  that  occupied  these  islands  before 
the  great  Aryan  tide  swept  over  from  the  East  ? 

Well,  this  was  bad  enough ;  but  when  the  doctor  proceeded  to 
declare  his  conviction  that  no  one  had  the  least  foundation  for 
the  various  conjectures  about  the  purposes  of  those  so-called 
Druidical  stones — that  it  was  all  a  matter  of  guess-work  whether 
as  regarded  council  halls,  grave-stones,  altars,  or  serpent-worship 
— and  that  it  was  quite  possible  these  stones  were  erected  by 
the  non-Aryan  race  who  inhabited  Europe  before  either  Gaul  or 
Roman  or  Teuton  came  west,  the  Laird  interrupted  him,  tri- 
umphantly. 

"  But,"  says  he,  "  the  very  names  of  those  stones  show  they 
are  of  Celtic  origin — will  ye  dispute  that?  What  is  the  mean- 
ing of  Carnac,  that  is  in  Brittany — eh  ?     Ye  know  Gaelic  ?" 

"Well,  I  know  that  much,"  said  Angus,  laughing.     "Carnac 


'76  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING     ROMANCE. 

means  simply  the  place  of  piled  stones.  But  the  Celts  may  have 
found  the  stones  there,  and  given  them  that  name." 

"  I  think,"  says  Miss  Avon,  profoundly,  "  that  when  you  go 
into  a  question  of  names,  you  can  prove  anything.  And  I  sup- 
pose Gaelic  is  as  accommodating  as  any  other  language." 

Angus  Sutherland  did  not  answer  for  a  moment ;  but  at  last 
he  said,  rather  shyly, 

"Gaelic  is  a  very  complimentary  language,  at  all  events.  Bean 
is  '  a  woman  ;'  and  heannachd  is  '  a  blessing.'  An  ti  a  bheannaick 
thu — that  is,  '  the  one  who  blessed  you.'  " 

Very  pretty ;  only  we  did  not  know  how  wildly  the  young 
man  might  not  be  falsifying  Gaelic  grammar  in  order  to  say 
something  nice  to  Mary  Avon. 

Patience  works  wonders.  Dinner-time  finds  us  so  far.  across 
the  Minch  that  we  can  make  out  the  light-house  of  South  Uist. 
And  all  these  outer  Hebrides  are  now  lying  in  a  flood  of  golden- 
red  light ;  and  on  the  cliffs  of  Canna,  far  away  in  the  south-east, 
and  now  dwarfed  so  that  they  lie  like  a  low  wall  on  the  sea,  there 
is  a  paler  red,  caught  from  the  glare  of  the  sunset.  And  here  is 
the  silver  tinkle  of  Master  Fred's  bell. 

On  deck  after  dinner ;  and  the  night  air  is  cooler  now ;  and 
there  are  cigars  about;  and  our  young  F.R.S.  is  at  the  tiller; 
and  Mary  Avon  is  singing,  apparently  to  herself,  something 
about  a  Berkshire  farmer's  daughter.  The  darkness  deepens, 
and  the  stars  come  out ;  and  there  is  one  star — larger  than  the 
rest,  and  low  down,  and  burning  a  steady  red — that  we  know  to 
be  Ushinish  light-house.  And  then  from  time  to  time  the  si- 
lence is  broken  by  ''^ Stand  bi/,  forrard  /  ''Bout  shij)  P''  and  there 
is  a  rattling  of  blocks  and  cordage,  and  then  the  head-sails  fill, 
and  away  she  goes  again  on  the  other  tack.  "VVc  have  got  up  to 
the  long  headlands  of  Skye  at  last. 

Clear  as  the  night  is,  the  wind  still  comes  in  squalls,  and  we 
have  the  top-sail  down.  Into  which  indentation  of  that  long, 
low  line  of  dark  land  shall  we  creep  in  the  darkness? 

But  John  of  Skye  keeps  away  from  the  land.  It  is  past  mid- 
night. There  is  nothing  visible  but  the  black  sea  and  the  clear 
sky,  and  the  red  star  of  the  light-house ;  nothing  audible  but 
Mary  Avon's  humming  to  herself  and  her  friend — the  two  wom- 
en sit  arm-in-arm  under  half  a  dozen  of  rugs — some  old-world 
ballad  to  the  monotonous  accompaniment  of  the  passing  seas. 


"  DUNVEGAN  ! Oil  !  DUNVEGAN  !"  77 

One  o'clock :  Usliinish  light  is  smaller  now,  a  minute  point  of 
red  fire,  and  the  black  line  of  land  on  our  right  looms  larger  in 
the  dusk.  Look  at  the  splendor  of  the  phosphorous  stars  on  the 
rushing  waves ! 

And  at  last  John  of  Skye  says,  in  an  undertone,  to  Angus, 

"Will  the  leddies  be  going  below  now  f 

"Going  below  !"  he  says,  in  reply.  "They  are  waiting  till  we 
get  to  anchor.     We  must  be  just  oflE  Dunvegan  Loch  now." 

Then  John  of  Skye  makes  his  confession. 

"  Oh  yes ;  I  been  into  Dunvegan  Loch  more  as  two  or  three 
times ;  but  I  not  like  the  dark  to  be  with  us  in  going  in ;  and 
if  we  lie  off  till  the  daylight  comes,  the  leddies  they  can  go  be- 
low to  their  peds.  And  if  Dr.  Sutherland  himself  would  like  to 
see  the.  channel  in  going  in,  will  I  send  below  when  the  day- 
light comes  ?" 

"  No,  no,  John  ;  thank  you,"  is  the  answer.  "When  I  turn  in, 
I  turn  in  for  good.  I  will  leave  you  to  find  out  the  channel  for 
yourself." 

And  so  there  is  a  clearance  of  the  deck,  and  rugs  and  camp- 
stools  handed  down  the  companion.  Deoch-an-doruis  in  the 
candle-lit  saloon  ?     To  bed — to  bed ! 

It  is  about  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  that  the  swinging  out 
of  the  anchor  chain  causes  the  yacht  to  tremble  from  stem  to 
stern  ;  and  the  sleepers  start  in  their  sleep,  but  are  vaguely  aware 
that  they  are  at  a  safe  anchoi-age  at  last.  And  do  you  know 
where  the  brave  White  Dove  is  lying  now  ?  Surely  if  the  new 
dawn  brings  any  stirring  of  wind — and  if  there  is  a  sound  com- 
ing over  to  us  from  this  far  land  of  legend  and  romance — it  is 
the  wild,  sad  wail  of  Dunvegan !  The  mists  are  clearing  from 
the  hills ;  the  day  breaks  wan  and  fair ;  the  great  gTay  castle, 
touched  by  the  early  sunlight,  looks  down  on  the  murmuring  sea. 
And  is  it  the  sea,  or  is  it  the  cold  wind  of  the  morning,  that 
sings  and  sings  to  us  in  our  dreams : 

"  Dunvegan— oh  !  DunveKau  !" 


WUXTE    WIXGS:     A    VACUTING    KOMAAX'E. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

DRAWING      NEARER. 

She  is  all  alone  on  deck.  The  morning  sun  shines  on  the 
beautiful  blue  bay,  on  the  great  castle  perched  on  the  rocks  over 
there,  and  on  the  wooded  green  hills  beyond.  She  has  got  a  can- 
vas fixed  on  her  easel ;  she  sings  to  herself  as  she  works. 

Now  this  English  young  lady  must  have  beguiled  the  tedium 
of  her  long  nursing  in  Edinburgh  by  making  a  particular  ac- 
quaintance with  Scotch  ballads  ;  or  how  otherwise  could  we  ac- 
count for  her  knowledge  of  the  "  Song  of  Ulva,"  and  now  of  the 
"  Song  of  Dunvegan  ?" 

"  Macleod  the  faithful,  and  fearing  none  ! — 
Dunvegan — oh  !  Dunvegan  !" 

— she  hums  to  herself  as  she  is  busy  with  this  rough  sketch  of 
sea  and  shore.  How  can  she  be  aware  that  Angus  Sutherland 
is  at  this  very  moment  in  the  companion-way,  and  not  daring  to 
stir  hand  or  foot  lest  he  should  disturb  her  ? 

"  Friends  and  foes  had  our  passion  thwarted," 

she  croons  to  herself,  though  indeed  there  is  no  despair  at  all  in 
her  voice,  but  a  perfect  contentment — 

"But  true,  tender,  and  lion-hearted, 
Lived  he  on,  and  from  life  departed, 

Macleod,  whose  rival  is  breathing  none! — 
Dunvegan — oh  !  Dunvegan !" 

She  is  pleased  with  the  rapidity  of  her  work.  She  tries  to  whis- 
tle a  little  bit.  Or  perhaps  it  is  only  the  fresh  morning  air  that 
has  put  her  in  such  good  spirits  ? 

"  Yestreen  the  Queen  had  four  Maries." 
What  has  that  got  to  do  with  the  sketch  of  the  shining  gray 


DRAWING    NEARER.  V9 

castle?  Among  these  tags  and  ends  of  ballads,  the  young  doc- 
tor at  last  becomes  emboldened  to  put  in  an  appearance, 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Avon,"  says  he ;  "  you  are  busy  at  work 
again  ?" 

She  is  not  in  the  least  surprised.  She  has  got  accustomed  to 
his  coming  on  deck  before  the  others ;  they  have  had  a  good 
deal  of  quiet  chatting  while  as  yet  the  Laird  was  only  adjusting 
his  high  white  collar  and  satin  neckcloth. 

"  It  is  only  a  sketch,"  said  she,  in  a  rapid  and  highly  business- 
like fashion, "  but  I  think  T  shall  be  able  to  sell  it.  You  know 
most  people  merely  value  pictures  for  their  association  with  things 
they  are  interested  in  themselves.  A  Yorkshire  farmer  would 
rather  have  a  picture  of  his  favorite  cob  than  any  Raphael  or 
Titian,  And  the  ordinary  English  squire — I  am  sure  that  you 
know  in  his  own  heart  he  prefers  one  of  Herring's  farm-yard 
pieces  to  Leonai'do's  '  Last  Supper.'  AVell,  if  some  yachting  gen- 
tleman who  has  been  in  this  loch  should  see  this  sketch,  he  will 
probably  buy  it,  how-ever  bad  it  is,  just  because  it  interests  him — " 

"  But  you  don't  really  mean  to  sell  it !"  said  he. 

"  That  depends,''  said  she,  demurely,  "  on  whether  I  get  any 
offer  for  it." 

"  Why,"  he  exclaimed,  "  the  series  of  pictures  you  are  now 
making  should  be  an  invaluable  treasure  to  you  all  your  life-long 
—a  permanent  record  of  a  voyage  that  you  seem  to  enjoy  very 
much.  I  almost  shrink  from  robbing  you  of  that  one  of  Canna; 
still,  the  temptation  is  too  great.  And  vou  propose  to  sell  them 
all  ?" 

"  What  I  can  sell  of  them,"  she  says.  And  then  she  adds, 
rather  shyly  :  "  You  know  I  could  not  very  well  afford  to  keep 
them  all  for  myself.  I — I  have  a  good  many  almoners  in  Lon- 
don ;  and  I  devote  to  them  what  I  can  get  for  my  scrawls ;  that 
is,  I  deduct  the  cost  of  the  frames,  and  keep  the  rest  for  them. 
It  is  not  a  large  sum." 

"  Any  otlier  woman  w'ould  spend  it  in  jewellery  and  dresses," 
says  he,  bluntly. 

At  this  Miss  Mary  Avon  flushes  slightly,  and  hastily  draws  his 
attention  to  a  small  boat  that  is  approaching.  Dr.  Sutlierland 
does  not  pay  any  heed  to  the  boat. 

lie  is  silent  for  a  second  or  so  ;  and  then  he  says,  with  an  ef- 
fort to  talk  in  a  cheerful  and  matter-of-fact  way  : 


80  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

"  You  have  not  sent  ashore  yet  this  morning :  don't  you  tnow 
there  is  a  post-office  at  Dunvegan  ?" 

"  Oh  yes ;  I  heard  so.  But  the  men  are  below  at  breakfast, 
I  think,  and  I  am  in  no  huny  to  send,  for  there  won't  be  any 
letters  for  me,  I  know." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  he  says,  with  seeming  carelessness.  "  It  must 
be  a  long  time  since  you  have  heard  from  your  friends." 

"  I  have  not  many  friends  to  hear  from,"  she  answers,  with  a 
light  laugh,  "  and  those  I  have  don't  trouble  me  with  many  let- 
ters.    I  suppose  they  think  I  am  in  very  good  hands  at  present." 

"  Oh  yes ;  no  doubt,"  says  he  ;  and  suddenly  he  begins  to 
talk  in  warm  terms  of  the  delightfulness  of  the  voj^age.  He  is 
<|uite  charmed  with  the  appearance  of  Dunvegan  loch  and  castle. 
A  more  beautiful  morning  he  never  saw.  And  in  the  midst  of 
all  this  enthusiasm  the  small  boat  comes  along-side. 

There  is  an  old  man  in  the  boat,  and  when  he  has  fastened  his 
oars  he  says  a  few  words  to  Angus  Sutherland,  and  hands  up  a 
big  black  bottle.  Our  young  doctor  brings  the  bottle  over  to 
Mary  Avon.  He  seems  to  be  very  much  pleased  with  everything 
this  morning. 

"  Now,  is  not  that  good-natured  ?"  says  he.     "  It  is  a  bottle 

of  fresh  milk,  with  the  compliments  of ,  of  Uginish.* 

Isn't  it  good-natured  ?" 

"  Oh,  indeed  it  is,"  says  she,  plunging  her  hand  into  her  pock- 
et.    "You  must  let  me  give  the  messenger  half  a  crown." 

"No,  no;  that  is  not  the  Highland  custom,"  says  the  doctor; 
and  therewith  he  goes  below,  and  fetches  up  another  black  bot- 
tle, and  pours  out  a  glass  of  whiskey  with  his  own  hand,  and  pre- 
sents it  to  the  ancient  boatman.  You  should  have  seen  the  look 
of  surprise  in  the  old  man's  face  when  Angus  Sutherland  said 
something  to  him  in  the  Gaelic. 

And  alas !  and  alas !  as  we  go  ashore  on  this  beautiful  bright 
day,  we  have  to  give  up  forever  the  old  Dunvegan  of  many  a 
dream ;  the  dark  and  solitary  keep  that  we  had  imagined  perch- 
ed liigh  above  the  Atlantic  breakers;  the  sheer  precipices,  the 
awfiil  sterility,  the  wail  of  lamentation  along  the  lonely  shores. 
This  is  a  different  picture  altogether  that  Mary  Avon  has  been 
trying  to  put  down  on  her  canvas — a  spacious,  almost  modern- 

*  Sir,  it  is  well  done  of  you  to  pay  tliat  pretty  conipliment  to  strangers. 


DRAWING    NEARER.  81 

looking-,  but  nevertlicless  picturesque  castle,  sheltered  from  tlie 
winds  by  softly  wooded  hills,  a  bit  of  smooth  blue  water  below, 
and  farther  along  the  shores  the  cheerful  evidences  of  fertility 
and  cultivation.  The  wail  of  Dunvegan  ?  Why,  here  is  a  brisk 
and  thriving  village,  with  a  post-office,  and  a  shop,  and  a  building 
that  looks  uncommonly  like  an  inn ;  and  there,  dotted  all  about, 
and  encroaching  on  the  upper  moorland,  any  number  of  those 
small  crofts  that  were  once  the  pride  of  the  Highlands,  and  that 
gave  to  England  the  most  stalwart  of  her  regiments.  Ilere  are 
no  ruined  huts  and  voiceless  wastes,  but  a  cheerful,  busy  picture 
of  peasant  life ;  the  strapping  wenches  at  work  in  the  small 
farm-yards,  well  built  and  frank  of  face ;  the  men  well  clad ;  the 
children  well  fed  and  merry  enough.  It  is  a  scene  that  delights 
the  heart  of  our  good  friend  of  Denny-mains.  If  we  had  but 
time,  he  would  fain  go  in  among  the  tiny  farms,  and  inquire 
about  the  rent  of  the  holdings,  and  the  price  paid  for  those  pict- 
uresque little  beasts  that  the  artists  are  forever  painting — with  a 
lowering  sky  beyond,  and  a  dash  of  sunlight  in  front.  But  our 
doctor  is  obdurate.  He  will  not  have  Mary  Avon  walk  farther; 
she  must  return  to  the  yacht. 

But  on  our  way  back,  as  she  is  walking  by  the  side  of  the 
road,  he  suddenly  puts  his  hand  on  her  arm,  apparently  to  stop 
her.     Slight  as  the  touch  is,  she  naturally  looks  surprised. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  says,  hastily,  "  but  I  thought  you 
would  rather  not  tread  on  it — " 

He  is  looking  at  a  weed  by  the  way-side — a  thing  that  looks 
like  a  snap-dragon  of  some  sort.  We  did  not  expect  to  find  a 
hard-headed  man  of  science  betray  this  trumpery  sentiment 
about  a  weed. 

"  I  thought  you  would  rather  not  tread  upon  it  when  you 
knew  it  was  a  stranger,"  he  says,  in  explanation  of  that  rude  as- 
sault upon  her  arm.  "  That  is  not  an  English  plant  at  all ;  it  is 
the  Mimulus  ;  its  real  home  is  in  America." 

We  began  to  look  with  more  interest  on  the  audacious  small 
foreigner  that  had  boldly  adventured  across  the  seas. 

"  Oh,"  she  says,  looking  back  along  the  road,  "  I  hope  I  have 
not  trampled  any  of  them  down." 

"Well,  it  does  not  much  matter,"  he  admits,  "for  the  plant  is 
becoming  quite  common  now  in  parts  of  the  West  Highlands ; 
but  I  thought  as  it  was  a  stranger,  and  come  all  the  way  across 


82  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

the  Atlantic  on  a  voyage  of  discovery,  yon  wonld  be  hospitable. 
I  suppose  the  Gulf  Stream  brought  the  first  of  them  over." 

"  And  if  they  had  any  choice  in  the  matter,"  says  Mary  Avon, 
looking  down,  and  speaking  with  a  little  self-conscious  delibera- 
tion, "  and  if  they  wanted  to  be  hospitably  received,  they  showed 
their  good  sense  in  coming  to  the  West  Highlands." 

After  that  there  was  a  dead  silence  on  the  part  of  Angus  Suth- 
erland, But  why  should  he  have  been  embarrassed  ?  There 
was  no  compliment  levelled  at  him,  that  he  should  blush  like  a 
school -boy.  It  was  quite  true  that  Miss  Avon's  liking — even 
love — for  the  West  Highlands  was  becoming  very  apparent ;  but 
Banffshire  is  not  in  the  West  Highlands.  AAliat  although  Angus 
Sutherland  could  speak  a  few  words  in  the  Gaelic  tongue  to  an 
old  boatman  ?  He  came  from  Banff.  Banffshire  is  not  in  the 
W^est  Highlands. 

Then  that  afternoon  at  the  great  castle  itself :  what  have  we 
but  a  confused  recollection  of  twelfth-century  towers ;  and  walls 
nine  feet  thick ;  and  ghost  cliambers ;  and  a  certain  fairy  flag, 
that  is  called  the  Bratach-Sith ;  and  the  wide  view  over  the  blue 
Atlantic ;  and  of  a  great  kindness  that  made  itself  visible  in  the 
way  of  hot -house  flowers  and  baskets  of  fruit,  and  what  not? 
The  portraits,  too  :  the  various  centuries  got  mixed  up  with  the 
old  legends,  until  we  did  not  know  in  which  face  to  look  for 
some  transmitted  expi'ession  that  might  tell  of  the  Cave  of  Uig 
or  the  Uamh-na-Ceann.  But  there  was  one  portrait  there,  quite 
modern  and  beautiful,  that  set  all  the  tourist  folk  a- raving,  so 
lovely  were  the  life  -  like  eyes  of  it ;  and  the  Laird  was  bold 
enough  to  say  to  the  gentle  lady  Avho  was  so  good  as  to  be  our 
guide,*  that  it  would  be  one  of  the  greatest  happinesses  of  his 
life  if  he  might  be  allowed  to  ask  Mr.  Galbraith,  the  well-known 
artist  of  Edinburgh,  to  select  a  young  painter  to  come  up  to  Dun- 
vegan  and  make  a  copy  of  this  picture  for  him,  Denny-mains. 
And  Dr.  Sutherland  could  scarcely  come  away  from  that  beauti- 
ful face  ;  and  our  good  Queen  T was  quite  charmed  with  it; 

*  This  is  a  strange  thing :  if  one  were  to  go  and  ask  the  people  of  St. 
Kihla  if  they  knew  of  any  angel  walking  anywhere  on  the  earth,  they  would 
all  of  them — man,  woman,  and  child — answer  with  but  the  one  name  ;  and 
further,  if  one  were  to  ask  of  them  where,  wlien  she  was  not  visiting  them, 
she  was  to  ))c  found,  they  would  answer  with  tlie  like  unanimity  —  "Dun- 
ve'jan  !" 


DRAWING    NEARER.  83 

and  as  for  Mary  Avon,  when  one  of  us  regarded  her,  behold !  as 
she  looked  up,  there  was  a  sort  of  moisture  in  the  soft  black  eyes. 
^Vhat  was  she  thinking  of  ?  That  it  must  be  a  fine  thing  to 
be  so  beautiful  a  woman,  and  charm  the  eyes  of  all  men  ?  But 
now — now  that  we  had  had  this  singing-bird  with  us  on  board 
the  yacht  for  so  long  a  time — would  any  one  of  us  have  admit- 
ted that  she  was  rather  plain  ?  It  would  not  have  gone  well 
with  any  one  who  had  ventured  to  say  so  to  the  Laird  of  Denny- 
mains,  at  all  events.  And  as  for  our  sovereign  lady  and  mistress, 
these  were  the  lines  which  she  always  said  described  Mary  Avon: 

"  Was  never  seen  thing  to  be  praised  derre,* 
Nor  under  blacke  clouds  so  bright  a  sterre, 
As  she  was,  as  they  saidcn,  every  one 
That  her  bcheldeu  in  her  blaclve  weed  ; 
And  yet  she  stood,  full  low  and  still,  alone, 
Behind  all  other  folk,  in  little  brede,t 
And  nigh  the  door,  ay,  under  shame's  drede ; 
Simple  of  bearing,  debonair  of  cheer, 
With  a  full  sure|  looking  and  mannere." 

How  smart  the  saloon  of  the  White  Dove  looked  that  evening 
at  dinner,  with  those  geraniums,  and  roses,  and  fuchsias,  and  what 
not,  set  amidst  the  tender  green  of  the  maiden-hair  fern  !  But 
all  the  same  there  was  a  serious  discussion.  Fruit,  flowers,  vege- 
tables, and  fresh  milk,  however  welcome,  fill  no  larder  ;  and  Mas- 
ter Fred  had  returned  with  the  doleful  tale  that  all  his  endeavors 
to  purchase  a  sheep  at  one  of  the  neighboring  farms  had  been  of 
no  avail.  Forthwith  we  resolved  to  make  another  effort.  Far 
away,  on  the  outer  shores  of  Dunvegan  Loch,  we  can  faintly  de- 
scry, in  the  glow  of  the  evening,  some  crofter's  huts  on  the  slopes 
of  the  hill.  Down  with  the  gig,  then,  boys  !  in  with  the  fishing- 
rods  !  and  away  for  the  distant  shores,  where  haply  some  tender  ewe- 
lamb,  or  brace  of  quacking  ducks,  or  some  half  dozen  half-starved 
fowls  may  be  withdrawn  from  the  reluctant  tiller  of  the  earth ! 

It  is  a  beautiful  clear  evening,  with  a  lemon-gold  glory  in  the 
north-west.  And  our  stout-sinewed  doctor  is  rowing  stroke,  and 
there  is  a  monotonous  refrain  of 

"  Ho,  ro,  clansmen ! 
A  long,  strong  pull  together — 
Ho,  ro,  clansmen !" 

*  Bcnr,  dear.  f  In  little  bi-ede,  without  display.  f  Sure,  frank. 


84  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTIXG    ROMANCE. 

"  We  must  give  you  a  wage  as  one  of  the  hands,  Angus,"  says 
Queen  T . 

"  I  am  paid  ah-eady,"  says  he.  "  I  would  work  my  passage 
through  for  the  sketch  of  Canna  that  Miss  Avon  gave  me." 

"  Would  you  like  to  ask  the  other  men  whether  they  would 
take  the  same  payment  ?"  says  Miss  Avon,  in  modest  depreciation 
of  her  powers. 

"  Do  not  say  anything  against  the  landscape  yc  gave  to  Dr. 
Sutherland,"  observes  the  Laird.  "  No,  no  ;  there  is  great  merit 
in  it.  I  have  told  ye  before  I  would  like  to  show  it  to  Tom  Gal- 
braith  before  it  goes  South  ;  I  am  sure  he  would  approve  of  it. 
Indeed,  he  is  jist  such  a  friend  of  mine  that  I  would  take  the 
leeberty  of  asking  him  to  give  it  a  bit  touch  here  and  there — 
what  an  experienced  artist  would  see  amiss,  ye  know — " 

"  Mr.  Galbraith  may  be  an  experienced  artist,"  says  our  doctor 
friend,  with  unnecessary  aspei'ity,  "  but  he  is  not  going  to  touch 
that  picture." 

"  Ah  can  tell  ye,"  says  the  Laird,  who  is  rather  hurt  by  this  re- 
jection, "  that  the  advice  of  Tom  Galbraith  has  been  taken  by  the 
greatest  artists  in  England.  He  was  up  in  London  last  year,  and 
was  at  the  studio  of  one  of  the  first  of  the  Acadameecians,  and 
that  very  man  was  not  ashamed  to  ask  the  opeenion  of  Tom  Gal- 
braith. And  says  Tom  to  him,  'The  face  is  very  fine,  but  the 
right  arm  is  out  of  drawing.'  You  would  think  that  imperti- 
nent? The  Acadameecian,  I  can  tell  you,  thought  differently. 
Says  he,  '  That  has  been  my  own  opeenion,  but  no  one  would 
ever  tell  me  so ;  and  I  would  have  left  it  as  it  is  had  ye  no 
spoken.'  " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  the  Academician  who  did  not  know  when 
his  picture  was  out  of  drawing  was  quite  right  to  take  the  advice 
of  Tom  Galbraith,"  says  our  stroke  oar.  "  But  Tom  Galbraith  is 
not  going  to  touch  Miss  Avon's  sketch  of  Canna — "  And  here 
the  fierce  altercation  is  stopped,  for  stroke  oar  puts  a  fresh  spurt 
on,  and  we  hear  another  sound  : 

"  Soon  tlic  frpshcning  hrcczc  will  blow. 
We'll  show  the  snowy  canvas  on  her — 

IIo,  ro,  clansmen  ! 
A  long,  strong  pull  tog<'thcr — 

llo,  ro,  clansmen  !" 

Well,  what  was  the  result  of  our  quest?     After  we  liad  landed 


DRAWING    NEARER,  85 

Master  Fred,  and  sent  him  up  the  hills,  and  gone  off  fishing  for 
lithe  for  an  hour  or  so,  we  returned  to  the  shore  in  the  gathering 
dusk.  We  found  our  messenger  seated  on  a  rock,  contentedly 
singing  a  Gaelic  song,  and  plucking  a  couple  of  fowls,  which  was 
all  the  provender  he  had  secured.  It  was  in  vain  that  he  tried 
to  cheer  us  by  informing  us  that  the  animals  in  question  had 
cost  only  sixpence  apiece.  We  knew  that  they  were  not  much 
bigger  than  thrushes.  Awful  visions  of  tinned  meats  began  to 
rise  before  us.  In  gloom  we  took  the  steward  and  the  micro- 
scopic fowls  on  board,  and  set  out  for  the  yacht. 

But  the  Laird  did  not  lose  his  spirits.  He  declared  that  self- 
preservation  was  the  first  law  of  nature,  and  that,  despite  the  in- 
junctions of  the  Wild  Birds'  Protection  Act,  he  would  get  out  his 
gun  and  shoot  the  very  first  brood  of  "  flappers "  he  saw  about 
those  lonely  lochs.  And  he  told  us  such  a  "good  one"  about 
Ilomesh  that  we  laughed  nearly  all  the  way  back  to  the  yacht. 
Provisions  ?  We  were  independent  of  provisions !  With  a  hand- 
ful of  rice  a  day  we  would  cross  the  Atlantic — we  would  cross 
twenty  Atlantics — so  long  as  we  were  to  be  regaled  and  cheered 
by  the  "  good  ones  "  of  our  friend  of  Denny-mains. 

Dr.  Sutherland,  too,  seemed  in  no  wise  depressed  by  the  famine 
in  the  land.  In  the  lamp-lit  saloon,  as  we  gathered  round  the 
table,  and  cards  and  things  were  brought  out,  and  the  Laird  be- 
gan to  brew  his  toddy,  the  young  doctor  maintained  that  no  one 
on  land  could  imagine  the  snugness  of  life  on  board  a  yacht. 
And  now  he  had  almost  forgotten  to  speak  of  leaving  us ;  per- 
haps it  was  the  posting  of  the  paper  on  Radiolarians,  along  with 
other  MSS.,  that  had  set  his  mind  free.  But  touching  that  mat- 
ter of  the  Dunvegan  post-ofiice :  why  had  he  been  so  particular 
in  asking  Mary  Avon  if  she  were  not  expecting  letters  ?  and  why 
did  he  so  suddenly  grow  enthusiastic  about  the  scenery  on  learn- 
ing that  the  young  lady,  on  her' travels,  was  not  pestered  with 
correspondence  ?     Miss  Avon  was  not  a  Cabinet  Minister. 


86  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 


CHAPTER  XTI. 

THE    OLD    SCHOOL    AND    THE    NEW. 

The  last  instructions  given  to  John  of  Skye  that  night  were 
large  and  liberal.  At  break  of  day  he  was  to  sail  for  any  port 
he  might  chance  to  encounter  on  the  wide  seas.  So  long  as  An- 
gus Sutherland  did  not  speak  of  returning,  what  did  it  matter  to 
us?  —  Loch  Boisdale,  Loch  Seaforth,  Stornoway,  St.  Kilda,  the 
North  Pole,  were  all  the  same.  It  is  true  that  of  fresh  meat  we 
had  on  board  only  two  fowls  about  the  size  of  wrens ;  but  of  all 
varieties  of  tinned  meats  and  fruit  we  had  an  abundant  store. 
And  if  perchance  we  were  forced  to  shoot  a  sheep  on  the  Flan- 
nen  Islands,  would  not  the  foul  deed  be  put  down  to  the  discred- 
it of  those  dastardly  Frenchmen  ?  When  you  rise  up  as  a  nation 
and  guillotine  all  the  respectable  folk  in  the  country,  it  is  only  to 
be  expected  of  you  thereafter  that  you  should  go  about  the  seas 
shooting  other  people's  sheep. 

And  indeed  when  we  get  on  deck  after  breakfast,  we  find  that 
John  of  Skye  has  fulfilled  his  instructions  to  the  letter;  that  is 
to  say,  he  niust  have  started  at  daybreak  to  get  away  so  far  from 
Dun  vegan  and  the  headlands  of  Skye.  But  as  for  going  far- 
ther ?  There  is  not  a  speck  of  cloud  in  the  dome  of  blue ;  there 
is  not  a  ripple  on  the  blue  sea;  there  is  not  a  breath  of  wind  to 
stir  the  great  white  sails  all  aglow  in  the  sunlight;  nor  is  there 
even  enough  of  the  Atlantic  swell  to  move  the  indolent  tiller. 
How  John  of  Skye  has  managed  to  bring  us  so  far  on  so  calm  a 
morning  remains  a  mystery. 

"And  the  glass  shows  no  signs  of  falling,"  says  our  young 
doctor,  quite  regretfully :  does  he  long  for  a  liurricane,  that  so 
he  may  exhibit  his  sailor-like  capacities? 

But  Mary  Avon,  with  a  practical  air,  is  arranging  her  easel  on 
deck,  and  fixing  up  a  canvas,  and  getting  out  the  tubes  she  wants 
— the  while  she  absently  sings  to  herself  something  about 


THE  oLn  SCHOOL  and  the  new.  bi 

"  Beauty  lies 
In  many  eyes, 
But  love  in  yours,  my  Nora  Creina." 

And  wliat  will  she  attack  now  ?  Those  long  headlands  of  Skye, 
dark  in  shadow,  with  a.  glow  of  sunlight  along  their  summits;  or 
those  lonely  hills  of  Uist  set  far  amidst  the  melancholy  main ;  or 
those  vaster  and  paler  mountains  of  llarris,  that  rise  on  the  north 
of  the  dreaded  Sound  ? 

"  Well,  you  have  courage,"  says  Angus  Sutherland,  admiringly, 
"  to  try  to  make  a  picture  out  of  that  /" 

"  Oh,"  she  says,  modestly,  though  she  is  obviously  pleased, 
"  that  is  a  pet  theory  of  mine.  I  try  for  ordinary  every-day  ef- 
fects, without  any  theatrical  business ;  and  if  I  had  only  the  pow- 
er to  reach  them,  I  know  I  should  surprise  people.  Because,  you 
know,  most  people  go  through  the  world  with  a  sort  of  mist  be- 
fore their  eyes;  and  they  are  awfully  grateful  to  you  when  you 
suddenly  clap  a  pair  of  spectacles  on  their  nose  and  make  them 
see  things  as  they  are.  I  cannot  do  it  as  yet,  you  know;  but 
there  is  no  harm  in  trying." 

"  I  think  you  do  it  remarkably  well,"  he  says ;  "  but  what  are 
you  to  make  of  that?  —  nothing  but  two  great  sheets  of  blue, 
with  a  line  of  bluer  hills  between  ?" 

But  Miss  Avon  speedily  presents  us  with  the  desired  pair  of 
spectacles.  Instead  of  the  cloudless  blue  day  we  had  imagined 
it  to  be,  we  find  that  there  are  low  masses  of  white  cloud  along 
the  Skye  clifEs,  and  these  throw  long  reflections  on  the  glassy  sea, 
and,  moreover,  we  begin  to  perceive  that  the  calm  vault  around 
us  is  not  an  uninterrupted  blue,  but  melts  into  a  pale  green  as  it 
nears  the  eastern  horizon.  Angus  Sutherland  leaves  the  artist  to 
her  work.     He  will  not  interrupt  her  by  idle  talk. 

There  is  no  idle  talk  going  forward  where  the  Laird  is  con- 
cerned. He  has  got  liold  of  an  attentive  listener  in  the  person 
of  his  hostess,  who  is  deep  in  needle-work ;  and  he  is  expound- 
ing to  her  more  clearly  than  ever  the  merits  of  the  great  Semple 
case,  pointing  out  more  particularly  how  the  charges  in  the  major 
proposition  are  borne  out  by  the  extracts  in  the  minor.  Yes ; 
and  he  has  caught  the  critics,  too,  on  the  hip.  What  about  the 
discovery  of  those  clever  gentlemen  that  Genesis  x.  and  10  was 
incorrect?  They  thought  they  were  exceedingly  smart  in  prov- 
ing that  the  founders  of  Babel  were  the  descendants,  not  of  Ham, 

5 


88  WHITE  wings:  a  YACHTiNa  romance. 

but  of  Shem.     But  wlieu  the  ruins  of  Babel  were  examined, 
what  then  ? 

"  Why,  it  was  distinctly  shown  that  the  founders  were  the  de- 
scendants of  Ham,  after  all !"  says  Denny-mains,  triumphantly. 
"  What  do  ye  think  of  that,  Dr.  Sutherland «" 

Angus  Sutherland  starts  from  a  reverie :  he  has  not  been  lis- 
tening. 

"  Of  what  ?"  he  says.     "  The  Scmple  case  ?" 

"Ay." 

"  Oh,  well,"  he  says,  rather  carelessly,  "  all  that  wrangling  is  as 
good  an  occupation  as  any  other — to  keep  people  from  thinking." 

The  Laird  stares,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  aright.  Angus  Suth- 
erland is  not  aware  of  having  said  anything  startling.  He  con- 
tinues, quite  innocently : 

"Any  occupation  is  valuable  enough  that  diverts  the  mind — 
that  is  why  hard  work  is  conducive  to  complete  mental  health ; 
it  does  not  matter  whether  it  is  grouse-shooting,  or  commanding 
an  army,  or  wrangling  about  major  or  minor  propositions.  If  a 
man  were  continually  to  be  facing  the  awful  mystery  of  existence 
— asking  the  record  of  the  earth  and  the  stars  how  he  came  to 
be  here,  and  getting  no  answer  at  all  —  he  must  inevitably  go 
mad.  The  brain  could  not  stand  it.  If  the  human  race  had  not 
busied  itself  with  wars  and  commerce,  and  so  forth,  it  must  cen- 
turies ago  have  committed  suicide.  That  is  the  value  of  hard 
work  —  to  keep  people  from  thinking  of  the  unknown  around 
them  :  the  more  a  man  is  occupied,  the  happier  he  is ;  it  does 
not  matter  whether  he  occupies  himself  with  School  Boards,  or 
salmon-fisliing,  or  the  prosecution  of  a  hei'ctic." 

He  did  not  remark  the  amazed  look  on  the  Laird's  face,  nor 
yet  that  Mary  Avon  had  dropped  her  painting  and  was  listening. 

"  The  fact  is,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "  if  you  are  likely  to  fall 
to  thinking  about  the  real  mysteries  of  existence  anywhere,  it  is 
among  solitudes  like  these,  where  you  see  what  a  trivial  little  ac- 
cident human  life  is  in  the  history  of  the  earth.  You  can't  think 
about  such  things  in  Regent  Street ;  the  cigar  shops,  the  cabs, 
the  passing  people,  occupy  you.  But  here  you  are  brought  back, 
as  it  were,  to  all  sorts  of  first  principles  ;  and  commonplaces  ap- 
pear somehow  in  their  original  freshness.  In  Regent  Street  you 
no  doubt  know  that  life  is  a  strange  thing,  and  that  death  is  a 
strange  thing,  because  you  have  been  told  so,  and  you  believe  it, 


THE    OLD    SCHOOL    AND    THE    NEW.  89 

and  think  no  more  about  it.  But  licre,  witli  the  seas  and  skies 
round  you,  and  witli  the  silence  of  the  night  making  you  tliink, 
you  feel  tlie  strangeness  of  these  tilings.  Now  just  look  over 
there ;  the  blue  sea,  and  the  blue  sky,  and  the  hills,  it  is  a  curious 
thing  to  think  that  they  will  be  shining  there  just  as  they  are 
now,  on  just  such  another  day  as  this,  and  you  unable  to  see 
them  or  anything  else  —  passed  away  like  a  ghost.  And  the 
White  Dove  will  be  sailing  up  here  ;  and  John  will  be  keeping 
an  eye  on  Ushinish  Light-house ;  but  your  eyes  won't  be  able  to 
see  anything — " 

"  Well,  Angus,  I  do  declare,"  exclaims  our  sovereign  mistress, 
"  you  have  chosen  a  comfortable  thing  to  talk  about  this  morn- 
ing!    Are  we  to  be  always  thinking  about  our  coffin?" 

"  On  the  contrary,"  says  the  young  doctor,  "  I  was  only  insist- 
ing on  the  wholesomeness  of  people  occupying  themselves  dili- 
gently with  some  distraction  or  other,  however  trivial.  And 
how  do  you  think  the  Semple  case  will  end,  sir  V 

But  our  good  friend  of  Denny-mains  was  far  too  deeply  shock- 
ed and  astounded  to  reply.  The  great  Semple  case  a  trivial  thing 
—  a  distraction  —  an  occupation  to  keep  people  from  serious 
thinking !  The  public  duties,  too,  of  the  Commissioner  for  the 
Burgh  of  Strathgovan — were  these  to  be  regarded  as  a  mere  play- 
thing ?  The  new  steam  fire-engine  was  only  a  toy,  then  ?  The 
proposed  new  park  and  the  addition  to  the  rates  were  to  be  re- 
garded as  a  piece  of  amiable  diversion  ? 

The  Laird  knew  that  Angus  Sutherland  had  not  read  the  Ves- 
tiges  of  Creation,  and  that  was  a  hopeful  sign.  But,  Vestiges  or 
no  Vestiges,  what  were  the  young  men  of  the  day  coming  to,  if 
their  daring  speculation  led  them  to  regard  the  most  serious  and 
important  concerns  of  life  as  a  pastime  ?  The  Commissioners  for 
the  Burgh  of  Strathgovan  were  but  a  parcel  of  children,  then, 
playing  on  the  sea-shore,  and  unaware  of  the  awful  deeps  be- 
yond ? 

"I  am  looking  at  these  things  only  as  a  doctor,"  says  Dr. 
Sutherland,  lightly — seeing  that  the  Laird  is  too  durafounded  to 
answer  his  question,  "  and  I  sometimes  think  a  doctors  history 
of  civilization  would  be  an  odd  thing,  if  only  you  could  get  at 
the  physiological  facts  of  the  case.  I  should  like  to  know,  for 
example,  what  Napoleon  had  for  supper  on  the  night  before 
Waterloo ;    something   indigestible,  you    may   be   sure.      If  his 


90  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

brain  bad  been  clear  on  the  loth,  be  would  have  smasbed  tbe  Al- 
lies, and  altered  modern  history.  I  should  have  greatly  liked, 
too,  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  tbe  man  who  first  announced 
his  belief  that  infants  dying  unbaptized  were  to  suffer  eternal  tort- 
ure :  I  think  it  must  have  been  bis  liver.  I  should  like  to  have 
examined  him." 

"  I  should  like  to  have  poisoned  him  !*'  says  Mary  Avon,  with  a 
flash  of  anger  in  the  soft  eyes. 

"  Oh  no  ;  the  poor  wretch  was  only  the  victim  of  some  ail- 
ment," said  our  doctor,  charitably.  "  There  must  have  been 
something  very  much  the  matter  with  Calvin,  too.  I  know  I 
could  have  cured  Schopenhauer  of  his  pessimism  if  he  had  let 
me  put  him  on  a  wholesome  regimen." 

The  Laird  probably  did  not  know  who  Schopenhauer  was ;  but 
the  audacity  of  the  new  school  was  altogether  too  much  for  him. 

"  I — I  suppose,"  he  said,  stammering  in  his  amazement,  "  ye 
would  have  taken  Joan  of  Arc  and  treated  her  as  a  lunatic  ?" 

"  Oh  no ;  not  as  a  confirmed  lunatic,"  he  answered,  quite  sim- 
ply. "  But  the  diagnosis  of  that  case  is  obvious ;  I  think  she 
cuuld  have  been  cured.  All  that  Joanna  Southcote  wanted  was 
a  frank  physician." 

The  Laird  rose  and  went  forward  to  where  Mary  Avon  was 
standing  at  her  easel.  She  instantly  resumed  her  work,  and  pre- 
tended not  to  have  been  listening. 

"Very  good — very  good,"  says  he,  as  if  his  whole  attention 
had  been  occupied  by  her  sketching.  "The  reflections  on  the 
water  are  just  fine.  Ye  must  let  me  show  all  your  sketches  to 
Tom  Galbraith  before  ye  go  back  to  the  South." 

"  I  hear  you  have  been  talking  about  the  mysteries  of  exist- 
ence," she  says,  with  a  smile. 

"  Oh  ay,  it  is  easy  to  talk,"  he  says,  sharply,  and  not  willing  to 
confess  that  he  lias  been  driven  away  from  the  field.  "  1  am 
afraid  there  is  an  unsettling  tendency  among  the  young  men 
of  the  present  day — a  want  of  respect  for  things  that  have  been 
established  by  tbe  common-sense  of  the  world.  Not  that  I  am 
against  all  innovation.  No,  no.  Tbe  world  cannot  stand  still. 
I  myself,  now ;  do  ye  know  that  I  was  among  the  first  in  Glas- 
gow to  hold  that  it  might  be  permissible  to  have  an  organ  to 
lead  the  psalmody  of  a  church  ?" 

"Oh,  indeed!"  says  she,  with  much  respect. 


THE    OLD    SCHOOL    AND    THE    NEW.  91 

"  That  is  true.  No,  no ;  I  am  not  one  of  the  bigoted.  Give 
me  the  Essentials,  and  I  do  not  care  if  ye  put  a  stone  cross  on 
the  top  of  the  church.  I  tell  ye  that  honestly ;  I  would  not  ob- 
ject even  to  a  cross  on  the  building,  if  all  was  sound  within." 

"I  am  sure  you  are  quite  right,  sir,"  says  Mary  Avon,  gently. 

"  But  no  tampering  with  the  Essentials.  And  as  for  the  mil- 
linery, and  incense,  and  crucifixes  of  they  poor  craytures  that 
have  not  the  courage  to  go  right  over  to  Rome — who  stop  on 
this  side,  and  play-act  at  being  Romans  —  it  is  seeckening,  per- 
fectly seeckening.  As  for  the  Romans  themselves,  I  do  not  con- 
demn them.  No,  no.  If  they  are  in  error,  I  doubt  not  they  be- 
lieve with  a  good  conscience.  And  when  I  am  in  a  foreign  town, 
and  one  o'  their  processions  of  priests  and  boys  comes  by,  I  raise 
my  hat.     I  do  indeed." 

"  Oh,  naturally,"  says  Mary  Avon. 

"  No,  no,"  continues  Denny-mains,  warmly,  "  there  is  none  of 
the  bigot  about  me.  There  is  a  minister  of  the  Episcopalian 
Church  that  I  know,  and  there  is  no  one  more  welcome  in  my 
house :  I  ask  him  to  say  grace  just  as  I  would  a  minister  of  my 
own  Church." 

"  And  which  is  that,  sir  ?"  she  asked,  meekly. 

The  Laird  stares  at  her.  Is  it  possible  that  she  has  heard  him 
so  elaborately  expound  the  Semple  prosecution,  and  not  be  aware 
to  what  denomination  he  belongs? 

"  The  Free — the  Free  Church,  of  course,"  he  says,  with  some 
surprise.  "  Have  ye  not  seen  the  Report  of  Proceedings  in  the 
Semple  case?" 

"  No,  I  have  not,"  she  answers,  timidly.  "  You  have  been  so 
kind  in  explaining  it  that — that  a  printed  report  was  quite  un- 
necessary." 

"  But  I  will  get  ye  one — I  will  get  ye  one  directly,"  says  he. 
"  I  have  several  copies  in  my  portmanteau.  And  ye  will  see  my 
name  in  front  as  one  of  the  elders  who  considered  it  fit  and  prop- 
er that  a  full  report  should  be  published,  so  as  to  warn  the  public 
against  these  inseedious  attacks  against  our  faith.  Don't  inter- 
rupt your  work,  my  lass.  But  I  will  get  ye  the  pamphlet ;  and 
whenever  you  want  to  sit  down  for  a  time,  ye  will  find  it  most 
interesting  reading — most  interesting." 

And  so  the  worthy  Laird  goes  below  to  fetch  that  valued  re- 
port.    And  scarcely  has  he  disappeared  than  a  sudden  com  mo- 


92  WHITE    AVINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

tion  rages  over  tlie  deck.  Behold  !  a  breeze  coming  swiftly  over 
the  sea,  ruffling  the  glassy  deep  as  it  approaches !  Angus  Suth- 
'erland  jumps  to  the  tiller.  The  head-sails  fill,  and  the  boat  be- 
gins to  move.  The  lee-sheets  are  hauled  taut ;  and  now  the  great 
main-sail  is  filled  too.  There  is  a  rippling  and  hissing  of  water, 
and  a  new  stir  of  life  and  motion  throughout  the  vessel  from 
stem  to  stern. 

It  seems  but  the  beginning  of  the  day  now,  though  it  is  near 
lunch-time.  Mary  Avon  puts  away  her  sketch  of  the  dead  calm, 
and  sits  dow^n  just  under  the  lee  of  the  boom,  where  the  cool 
breeze  is  blowing  along.  The  Laird,  having  brought  up  the  pam- 
phlet, is  vigorously  pacing  the  deck  for  his  morning  exercise ;  we 
have  all  awakened  from  these  idle  reveries  about  the  mystery  of 
life. 

"  Ha,  ha,"  he  says,  coming  aft,  "  this  is  fine — this  is  fine  now  ! 
Why  not  give  the  men  a  glass  of  whiskey  all  round  for  whistling 
up  such  a  fine  breeze  ?     Do  ye  think  they  would  object  ?" 

"  Better  give  them  a  couple  of  bottles  of  beer  for  their  din- 
ner," suggests  Queen  T ,  who  is  no  lover  of  whiskey. 

But  do  you  think  the  Laird  is  to  be  put  off  his  story  by  any 
such  suggestion  ?  We  can  see  by  his  face  that  he  has  an  anec- 
dote to  fire  off.  Is  it  not  apparent  that  his  mention  of  whiskey 
was  made  with  a  purpose  ? 

"  There  was  a  real  good  one,"  says  he — and  the  laughter  is  al- 
ready twinkling  in  his  eyes — "  about  the  man  that  was  apologiz- 
ing before  his  family  for  having  been  drinking  whiskey  with 
some  friends.  'Ay,'  says  he,  'they  just  held  me  and  forced  it 
down  my  throat.'  Then  says  his  son — a  little  chap  about  ten — 
says  he,  'I  think  I  could  ha'  held  ye  mysel,  feyther' — ho!  ho! 
ho  !  says  he,  'I  think  I  could  ha'  held  ye  mysel,  feyther;'"  and 
the  Laird  laughed,  and  laughed  again,  till  the  tears  came  into  his 
eyes.  We  could  see  that  he  was  still  internally  laughing  at  that 
good  one  when  we  went  below  for  luncheon. 

At  luncheon,  too,  the  Laird  quite  made  up  his  feud  with  An- 
gus Sutherland,  for  he  had  a  great  many  other  good  ones  to  tell 
about  whiskey  and  whiskey -drinking ;  and  he  liked  a  sympa- 
thetic audience.  But  this  general  merriment  was  suddenly  dash- 
ed by  an  ominous  suggestion  coming  from  our  young  doctor. 
Why,  Ik;  asked,  should  we  go  on  fighting  against  these  norther- 
ly winds?     Why  not  turn  and  run  before  them  ? 


THE    OLD    SCHOOL    AND    THE    NEW.  93 

"Then  you  want  to  leave  us,  Angus,"  said  his  hostess,  re- 
proachfully. 

"  Oh  no,"  he  said,  and  with  some  color  in  his  face.  "  I  don't* 
want  to  go,  but  I  fear  I  must  very  soon  now.  However,  I  did 
not  make  that  suggestion  on  my  own  account ;  if  I  were  pressed 
for  time,  I  could  get  somewhere  where  I  could  catch  the  Clans- 
man.'''' 

Mary  Avon  looked  down,  saying  nothing. 

"  You  would  not  leave  the  ship  like  that  ?"  says  his  hostess. 
"  You  would  not  run  away,  surely  ?  Rather  than  that  we  will 
turn  at  once.     Where  are  we  now  V 

"  If  the  breeze  lasts,  we  will  get  over  to  Uist,  to  Loch-na-Mad- 
dy,  this  evening,  but  you  must  not  think  of  altering  your  plans 
on  my  account.  I  made  the  suggestion  because  of  what  Captain 
John  was  saying." 

"Very  well,"  says  our  Admiral  of  the  Fleet,  taking  no  heed 
of  properly  constituted  authority.  "  Suppose  we  set  out  on  our 
return  voyage  to-morrow  morning,  going  round  the  other  side  of 
Skye  for  a  change.  But  you  know,  Angus,  it  is  not  fair  of  you 
to  run  away  when  you  say  yourself  there  is  nothing  particular 
calls  you  to  London." 

"  Oh,"  says  he,  "  I  am  not  going  to  London  just  yet.  I  am 
going  to  Banff,  to  see  my  father.  There  is  an  uncle  of  mine,  too, 
on  a  visit  to  the  manse." 

"  Then  you  will  be  coming  South  again  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  why  not  come  another  cruise  with  us  on  your  way 
back?" 

It  was  not  like  this  hard-headed  young  doctor  to  appear  so 
embarrassed. 

"  That  is  what  I  should  like  very  much  myself,"  he  stammered, 
"  if — if  I  were  not  in  the  way  of  your  other  arrangements." 

"  We  shall  make  no  other  arrangements,"  says  the  other,  defi- 
nitely. "  Now  that  is  a  promise,  mind.  No  drawing  back. 
Mary  will  put  it  down  in  writing,  and  hold  you  to  it." 

Mary  Avon  had  not  looked  up  all  this  time. 

"You  should  not  press  Dr.  Sutherland  too  much,"  she  says, 
shyly  ;  "  perhaps  he  has  other  friends  he  would  like  to  see  before 
leaving  Scotland." 

The  hypocrite !     Did   she   want  to  make  Angus  Sutherland 


94  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

burst  a  blood-vessel  in  protesting  that  of  all  tbe  excursions  be 
bad  made  in  bis  life  tbis  would  be  to  bim  forever  tbe  most  mem- 
orable, and  tbat  a  repetition  or  extension  of  it  was  a  deligbt  in 
tbe  future  almost  too  great  to  think  of?  However,  she  seemed 
pleased  that  be  spoke  so  warmly,  and  she  did  not  attempt  to  con- 
tradict bim.  If  be  bad  really  enjoyed  all  tbis  rambling  idleness, 
it  would  no  doubt  tbe  better  fit  bim  for  bis  work  in  tbe  great 
capital. 

We  beat  in  to  Locb-na-Maddy — tbat  is,  the  Lake  of  tbe  Dogs 
— in  tbe  quiet  evening  ;  and  the  rather  commonplace  low-lying 
bills,  and  tbe  plain  bouses  of  tbe  remote  little  village,  looked 
beautiful  enough  under  the  glow  of  the  western  skies.  And  we 
went  ashore,  and  walked  inland  for  a  space,  through  an  intricate 
net-work  of  lagoons  inbrancbing  from  tbe  sea ;  and  we  saw  the 
trout  leaping  and  making  circles  on  tbe  gold  -  red  pools,  and 
watched  tbe  herons  rising  from  their  fishing  and  winging  tlieir 
slow  flight  across  tbe  silent  lakes. 

And  it  was  a  beautiful  night,  too,  and  we  bad  a  little  singing 
on  deck.  Perhaps  there  was  an  under-current  of  regret  in  the 
knowledge  tbat  now — for  this  voyage  at  least — we  bad  touched 
our  farthest  point.  To-morrow  we  were  to  set  out  again  for  tbe 
South. 


CHAPTER  XHI. 

FERDINAND    AND     MIRANDA. 


The  wind  was  laughing  at  Angus  Sutherland.  All  the  time 
we  had  been  sailing  north,  it  bad  blown  from  the  north ;  now 
tbat  we  turned  our  faces  eastward,  it  wheeled  round  to  the  east, 
as  if  it  would  imprison  bim  forever  in  this  floating  home. 

^^You  ivould  fain  get  away''''  —  tbis  was  tbe  mocking  sound 
that  one  of  us  seemed  to  hear  in  those  light  airs  of  the  morning 
tbat  blew  along  the  white  canvas — " /Ae  ivorld  calls  ;  ambition, 
fame,  the  eagerness  of  rivalry,  the  spell  that  science  throws  over 
her  disciples  —  all  these  are  powerful,  and  they  draw  you,  and 
you  would  fain  get  away.  But  the  hand  of  the  tvind  is  uplifted 
against  you;  you  may  fret  as  you  will,  but  you  arc  not  round 
Ru  Hunish  yet .'" 

And  perhaps  tbe  imaginative  small  creature  who  heard  these 


FERDINAND    AND    MIRANDA.  95 

strange  things  in  the  light  breeze  against  which  we  were  fighting 
our  way  across  the  Minch  may  have  been  forming  her  own  plans. 
Angus  Sutherland,  she  used  often  to  say,  wanted  humanizing. 
He  was  too  proud  and  scornful  in  the  pride  of  his  knowledge ; 
the  gentle  hand  of  a  woman  was  needed  to  lead  him  into  more 
tractable  ways.  And  then  this  Mary  Avon,  with  her  dexterous, 
nimble  woman's  wit,  and  her  indomitable  courage,  and  her  life 
and  spirit  and  abounding  cheerfulness ;  would  she  not  be  a  splen- 
did companion  for  him  during  his  long  and  hard  struggle?  This 
born  match-maker  had  long  ago  thrown  away  any  notion  about 
the  Laird  transferring  our  singing- bird  to  Denny -mains.  She 
had  almost  forgotten  about  the  project  of  bringing  Howard 
Smith,  the  Laird's  nephew,  and  half  compelling  hira  to  marry 
Mary  Avon :  that  was  preposterous  on  the  face  of  it.  But  she 
had  grown  accustomed,  during  those  long  days  of  tranquil  idle- 
ness, to  see  our  young  doctor  and  Mary  Avon  together,  cut  off 
from  all  the  distractions  of  the  world,  a  new  Paul  and  Virginia. 
Why — she  may  have  asked  herself — should  not  these  two  soli- 
tary waifs,  thus  thrown  by  chance  together  on  the  wide  ocean  of 
existence,  why  should  they  not  cling  to  each  other  and  strengthen 
each  other  in  the  coming  days  of  trial  and  storm  ?  The  strange, 
pathetic,  phantasmal  farce  of  life  is  brief;  they  cannot  seize  it, 
and  hold  it,  and  shape  it  to  their  own  ends ;  they  know  not 
whence  it  comes  or  whither  it  goes ;  but  while  the  brief,  strange 
thing  lasts,  they  can  grasp  each  other's  hand,  and  make  sure — 
amidst  all  the  unknown  things  around  them,  the  mountains,  and 
the  wide  seas,  and  the  stars — of  some  common,  humble,  human 
sympathy.  It  is  so  natural  to  grasp  the  hand  of  another  in  the 
presence  of  something  vast  and  unknown. 

The  rest  of  us,  at  all  events,  have  no  time  for  such  vague 
dreams  and  reveries.  There  is  no  idleness  on  board  the  White 
Dove  out  here  on  the  shining  deep.  Dr.  Sutherland  has  rigged 
up  for  himself  a  sort  of  gymnasium  by  putting  a  rope  across  the 
shrouds  to  the  peak  halyards ;  and  on  this  rather  elastic  cross- 
bar he  is  taking  his  morning  exercise  by  going  through  a  series 
of  performances,  no  doubt  picked  up  in  Germany.  Miss  Avon  is 
busy  with  a  sketch  of  the  long  headland  running  out  to  Vater- 
nish  Point ;  though,  indeed,  this  smooth  Atlantic  roll  makes  it 
difficult  for  her  to  keep  her  feet,  and  introduces  a  certain  amount 
of  hap-hazard  into  her  handiwork.     The  Laird  has  brought  on 

5* 


96  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

deck  a  formidable  portfolio  of  papers,  no  doubt  relating  to  tlie 
public  affairs  of  Strathgovaii,  and  has  put  on  his  gold  spectacles, 
and  has  got  his  pencil  in  hand.  Master  Fred  is  re-arranging  the 
cabins ;  the  mistress  of  the  yacht  is  looking  after  her  flowers. 
And  then  is  heard  the  voice  of  John  of  Skye — '^ Stand  hi/,  boysP'' 
and  '•''Bout  ship .'"  and  the  helm  goes  down,  and  the  jib  and  fore- 
sail flutter  and  tear  at  the  blocks  and  sheets,  and  then  the  sails 
gently  fill,  and  the  White  Dove  is  away  on  another  tack, 

"  Well,  I  give  in !"  says  Mary  Avon,  at  last,  as  a  heavier  lurch 
than  usual  threatens  to  throw  her  and  her  easel  together  into  the 
scuppers.     "  It  is  no  use !" 

"  I  thought  you  never  gave  in,  Mary,"  says  our  admiral,  whose 
head  has  appeared  again  at  the  top  of  the  companion-stairs. 

"  I  wonder  who  could  paint  like  this !"  says  Miss  Avon,  indig- 
nantly. And  indeed  she  is  trussed  up  like  a  fowl,  with  one  arm 
round  one  of  the  gig  davits. 

"  Turner  was  lashed  to  the  mast  of  a  vessel  in  order  to  see  a 
storm,"  says  Queen  T . 

"  But  not  to  paint,"  retorts  the  other.  "  Besides,  I  am  not 
Turner.     Besides,  I  am  tired." 

By  this  time,  of  course,  Angus  Sutherland  has  come  to  her 
help,  and  removes  her  easel  and  what  not  for  her,  and  fetches 
her  a  deck-chair. 

"  Would  you  like  to  play  chess  ?"  says  he. 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  answers,  dutifully,  "  if  you  think  the  men  will 
stay  on  the  board." 

"  Draughts  will  be  safer,"  says  he ;  and  therewith  he  plunges 
below  and  fetches  up  the  squared  board  and  the  pieces. 

And  so,  on  this  beautiful  summer  day,  with  the  shining  seas 
around  them,  and  a  cool  breeze  tempering  the  heat  of  the  sun, 
Ferdinand  and  Miranda  set  to  work.  And  it  was  a  pretty  sight 
to  see  them — her  soft  dark  eyes  so  full  of  an  anxious  care  to  ac- 
quit herself  well;  his  robust,  hard,  fresh -colored  face  full  of  a 
sort  of  good-natured  forbearance.  But  nevertheless  it  was  a 
strange  game.  All  Scotchmen  are  supposed  to  play  draughts, 
and  one  brought  up  in  a  manse  is  almost  of  necessity  a  good 
player.  But  one  astonished  on -looker  began  to  perceive  that 
whereas  Mary  Avon  played  but  indifferently,  her  opponent  played 
with  a  blindness  that  was  quite  remarkable.  She  had  a  very 
pretty,  small,  white  hand:  was  he  looking  at  that,  that  he  did 


FERDINAND    AND    MIRANDA.  97 

not,  on  one  occasion,  see  liow  he  could  have  taken  three  pieces 
and  crowned  his  man  all  at  one  fell  swoop  ?  And  then  is  it  con- 
sidered incumbent  on  a  draught-player  to  inform  his  opponent  of 
what  would  be  a  better  move  on  the  part  of  the  latter?  However 
that  may  be,  true  it  is  that,  by  dint  of  much  advice,  opportune 
blindness,  and  atrocious  bad  play,  the  doctor  managed  to  get  the 
game  ended  in  a  draw. 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Mary  Avon,  "  I  never  thought  I  should  have 
had  a  chance.     The  Scotch  are  such  good  draught-players," 

"But  you  play  remarkably  well,"  said  he — and  there  was  no 
blush  of  shame  on  his  face. 

Draughts  and  luncheon  carry  us  on  to  the  afternoon  ;  and  still 
the  light  breeze  holds  out;  and  we  get  nearer  and  nearer  to  the 
most  northerly  points  of  Skye.  And  as  the  evening  draws  on 
we  can  now  make  out  the  hilly  line  of  Ross-shire — a  pale  rose- 
color  in  the  far  east ;  and  nearer  at  hand  is  the  Skye  coast,  with 
the  warm  sunlight  touching  on  the  ruins  of  Duntulme,  where 
Donald  Gorm  Mor  fed  his  imprisoned  nephew  on  salt  beef,  and 
then  lowered  to  him  an  empty  cup  —  mocking  him  before  he 
died ;  and  then  in  the  west  the  mountains  of  Harris,  a  dark  pur- 
ple against  the  clear  lemon-golden  glow'.  But  as  night  draws  on, 
behold !  the  wind  dies  away  altogether,  and  we  lie  becalmed  on  a 
lilac-and-silver  sea,  with  some  rocky  islands  over  there  grown  into 
a  strange  intense  green  in  the  clear  twilight. 

Down  with  the  gig,  then,  John  of  Skye  ! — and  hurry  in  all  our 
rods,  and  lines,  and  the  occult  intrapping  inventions  of  our  patri- 
arch of  Denny-mains.  We  have  no  scruple  about  leaving  the 
yacht  in  mid-ocean.  The  clear  twilight  shines  in  the  sky ;  there 
is  not  a  ripple  on  the  sea ;  only  the  long  Atlantic  swell  that  we 
can  hear  breaking  far  away  on  the  rocks.  And  surely  such  calms 
are  infrequent  in  the  Mincli ;  and  surely  these  lonely  rocks  caij 
have  been  visited  but  seldom  by  passing  voyagers  ? 

Yet  the  great  rollers — as  we  near  the  forbidding  shores — break 
with  an  ominous  thunder  on  the  projecting  points  and  reefs. 
The  doctor  insists  on  getting  closer  and  closer  (he  knows  where 
the  big  lithe  are  likely  to  be  found),  and  the  men,  although  they 
keep  a  watchful  eye  about  them,  obey,  And  then — it  is  Mary 
Avon  who  first  calls  out — and  behold !  her  rod  is  suddenly  drag- 
ged down  —  the  point  is  hauled  below  the  water  —  agony  and 
alarm  are  on  her  face. 


98  WHITE  WINGS :    a  yachting  romance. 

"  Here ;  take  it— take  it !"  slie  calls  out.  "  The  rod  will  be 
broken !" 

"  Not  a  bit,"  the  doctor  calls  out.  "  Give  him  the  butt  hard. 
Never  mind  the  rod.     Haul  away  !" 

And  indeed  by  this  time  everybody  was  alternately  calling  and 
hauling ;  and  John  of  Skye,  attending  to  the  rods  of  the  two 
ladies,  had  scarcely  time  to  disengage  the  big  fish  and  smooth  the 
flies  again ;  and  the  Laird  was  declaring  that  these  lithe  fight  as 
hard  as  a  twenty-pound  salmon.  "What  did  we  care  about  those 
needles  and  points  of  black  rock  that  every  two  or  three  seconds 
showed  their  teeth  through  the  breaking  white  surf  ? 

"  Keep  her  close  in,  boys !"  Angus  Sutherland  cried.  "  We 
shall  have  a  fine  pickling  to-morrow." 

Then  one  fish,  stronger  or  bigger  than  his  fellows,  pulls  the  rod 
clean  out  of  Mary  Avon's  hands. 

"  Well,  I  have  done  it  this  time  !"  she  says. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  her  companion  cries.  "  Up  all  lines !  Back  now, 
lads— gently  1" 

And  as  the  stern  of  the  boat  is  shoved  over  the  great  glassy 
billows,  behold !  a  thin  dark  line  occasionally  visible — the  end  of 
the  lost  rod !  Then  there  is  a  swoop  on  the  part  of  our  doctor ; 
he  has  both  his  hands  on  the  butt;  there  elapses  a  minute  or 
two  of  fighting  between  man  and  fish ;  and  then  we  can  see  be- 
low the  boat  the  wan  gleam  of  the  captured  animal  as  it  comes 
to  the  surface  in  slow  circles.  Hurrah  !  a  seven-pounder !  John 
of  Skye  chuckles  to  himself  as  he  grasps  the  big  lithe, 

"  Oh  ay !"  he  says ;  "  the  young  leddy  knows  ferry  well  when 
to  throw  away  the  rod.  It  iss  a  gran'  good  thing  to  throw  away 
the  rod  when  there  will  be  a  big  fish.     Ay,  ay,  it  iss  a  good  fish." 

But  the  brutes  that  fought  hardest  of  all  were  the  d(ig-fish — 
the  snakes  of  the  sea;  and  there  was  a  sort  of  holy  archangclic 
joy  on  the  face  of  John  of  Skye  when  he  seized  a  lump  of  stick 
to  fell  these  hideous  creatures  before  flinging  them  back  into  the 
water  again.  And  yet  why  should  they  have  been  killed  on  ac- 
fonnt  of  their  snake-like  eyes  and  their  cruel  mouth?  The  hu- 
man race  did  not  rise  and  extirpate  Frederick  Smethurst  because 
he  was  ill-favored. 

By  half-past  ten  we  had  secured  a  good  cargo  of  fish,  and  then 
we  set  out  for  the  yacht.  The  clear  twilight  was  still  shining 
above  the  Harris  hills;  but  there  was  a  dusky  shadow  along  the 


FERDINAND    AND    MIUAKDA.  99 

Outer  Hebrides,  where  the  orange  ray  of  Scalpa  Light  was  shin- 
ing; and  tlicrc  was  dusk  in  the  south,  so  that  the  yacht  had  be- 
come invisible  altogether.  It  was  a  long  pull  back,  for  the  White 
Dove  liad  been  carried  far  by  the  ebb  tide.  "When  we  found  her, 
she  looked  like  a  tall  gray  ghost  in  the  gathering  darkness ;  and 
no  light  had  as  yet  been  put  up ;  but  all  the  same  we  had  a 
laughing  welcome  from  Master  Fred,  who  was  glad  to  have  the 
fresh  fish  wherewith  to  supplement  our  frugal  meals. 

Then  the  next  morning,  when  we  got  up  and  looked  around, 
we  were  in  the  same  place  !  And  the  glass  would  not  fall,  and 
the  blue  skies  kept  blue,  and  we  had  to  encounter  still  another 
day  of  dreamy  idleness. 

"  The  weather  is  conspiring  against  you,  Angus,"  our  sovereign 
lady  said,  with  a  smile.  "And  you  know  you  cannot  run  away 
from  the  yacht :  it  would  be  so  cowardly  to  take  the  steamer." 

"  Well,  indeed,"  said  he,  "  it  is  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I 
have  found  absolute  idleness  enjoyable,  and  I  am  not  so  very  anx- 
ious it  should  end.  Somehow,  though,  I  fear  we  are  too  well  off. 
"When  we  get  back  to  the  region  of  letters  and  telegrams,  don't 
you  think  we  shall  have  to  pay  for  all  this  selfish  happiness?" 

"  Then  why  should  we  go  back  ?"  she  says,  lightly.  "  Why 
not  make  a  compact  to  forsake  the  world  altogether,  and  live  all 
our  life  on  board  the  White  Dove?'''' 

Somehow  his  eyes  wandered  to  Mary  Avon,  and  he  said,  rather 
absently, 

"  I,  for  one,  should  like  it  well  enough,  if  it  were  only  possible." 

"  No,  no,"  says  the  Laird,  brusquely,  "  that  will  no  do  at  all. 
It  was  never  intended  that  people  should  go  and  live  for  them- 
selves like  that.  Ye  have  your  duties  to  the  nation  and  to  the 
laws  that  protect  ye.  When  I  left  Denny-mains  I  told  my  broth- 
er Commissioners  that  what  I  could  do  when  I  was  away  to  fur- 
ther the  business  of  the  Burgh  I  would  do ;  and  I  have  entered 
most  minutely  into  several  matters  of  great  importance.  And 
that  is  why  I  am  anxious  to  get  to  Portree.  I  expect  most  im- 
portant letters  there. 

Portree !  Our  whereabouts  on  the  chart  last  night  was  mark- 
ed between  45  and  46  fathoms  W^.S.W.  from  some  nameless 
rocks ;  and  here,  as  far  as  we  can  make  out,  we  are  still  between 
these  mystical  numbers.  What  can  we  do  but  chat,  and  read, 
and  play  draughts,  and  twirl  round  a  rope,  and  ascend  to  the 


100  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

cross-trees  to  look  out  for  a  breeze,  and  watcli  and  listen  to  tlic 
animal  life  around  us  ? 

"  I  do  think,"  says  Mary  Avon  to  lier  hostess,  "  the  calling  of 
those  divers  is  the  softest  and  most  musical  sound  I  ever  heard ; 
perhaps  because  it  is  associated  with  so  many  beautiful  places. 
Just  fancy,  now,  if  you  were  suddenly  to  hear  a  diver  symphony 
beginning  in  an  opera — if  all  the  falsetto  recitative  and  the  blare 
of  the  trumpets  were  to  stop — and  if  you  were  to  hear  the  vio- 
lins and  flutes  beginning  quite  low  and  soft  a  diver  symphony, 
would  you  not  think  of  the  Hebrides,  and  the  White  Dove,  and 
the  long  summer  days  ?  In  the  winter,  you  know,  in  London,  I 
fancy  we  should  go  once  or  twice  to  see  that  opera !" 

"  I  have  never  been  to  an  opera,"  remarks  the  Laird,  quite  im- 
pervious to  Mary  Avon's  tender  enthusiasm.  "  I  am  told  it  is  a 
fantastic  exhibcetion." 

The  chief  incident  of  that  day  was  the  appearance  of  a  new 
monster  of  the  deep,  which  approached  quite  close  to  the  hull  of 
the  White  Dove.  Leaning  over  the  rail  we  could  see  him  clearly 
in  the  clear  water — a  beautiful  golden  submarme  spider,  with  a 
conical  body  like  that  of  a  land  spider,  and  six  or  eight  legs,  by 
the  incurving  of  which  he  slowly  propelled  himself  through  the 
water.  As  we  were  perfectly  convinced  that  no  one  had  ever 
been  in  such  dead  calms  in  the  Minch  before,  and  had  lain  for 
twenty-four  hours  in  the  neighborhood  of  45  and  4G,  we  took 
it  for  granted  that  this  was  a  new  animal.  We  named  it  the 
Arachne  Mary  -  Avonensis,  hni  did  not  seek  to  capture  it.  It 
went  on  its  golden  way. 

But  we  were  not  to  linger  forever  in  these  Northern  seas,  sur- 
rounded by  perpetual  summer  calms — however  beautiful  tlic  pros- 
pect might  be  to  a  young  man  fallen  away,  for  the  moment,  from 
his  high  ambitions.  Whatever  summons  from  the  far  world 
might  be  awaiting  us  at  Portree  was  soon  to  be  served  upon  us. 
In  the  afternoon  a  slight  breeze  sprung  up  that  gently  carried  us 
away  past  Ru  Ilunish,  and  round  by  Eilean  Trodda,  and  down 
by  Altavaig.  The  gray -green  basaltic  cliffs  of  the  Skye  coast 
were  now  in  shadow ;  but  the  strong  sunlight  beat  on  the  grassy 
ledges  above  ;  and  there  was  a  distant  roar  of  water  along  the 
rocks.  Tliis  other  throbbing  sound,  too  :  surely  that  must  be 
some  steamer  far  away  on  the  other  side  of  Rona  ? 

The  sunset  deepened.     Darker  and  darker  grew  the  shadows 


EVIL    TIDINGS.  101 

ill  the  great  mountains  above  us.  We  lieard  tlie  sea  along  the 
solitary  shores. 

The  stars  came  out  in  the  twilight :  they  seemed  clearest  just 
over  the  black  mountains.  In  the  silence  there  was  the  sound  of 
a  water-fall  somewhere — in  among  those  dark  cliffs.  Then  our 
side-lights  were  put  up ;  and  we  sat  on  deck ;  and  Mary  Avon, 
nestling  close  to  her  friend,  was  persuaded  to  sing  for  her 

"  Yestreen  the  Queen  had  four  Maries  " 

— just  as  if  she  had  never  heard  the  song  before.  The  hours 
went  by ;  Angus  Sutherland  was  talking  in  a  slow,  earnest,  des- 
ultory fashion ;  and  surely  he  must  have  been  conscious  that  one 
heart  there  at  least  was  eagerly  and  silently  listening  to  him. 
The  dawn  was  near  at  hand  when  finally  we  consented  to  go 
below. 

What  time  of  the  morning  was  it  that  we  heard  John  of  Skye 
call  out  "  Six  or  seven  fathoms  Ul  dof  We  knew  at  least  that 
■we  had  got  into  harbor,  and  that  the  first  golden  glow  of  the 
daybreak  was  streaming  through  the  skylights  of  the  saloon. 
We  had  returned  from  the  wilds  to  the  claims  and  the  cares  of 
civilization ;  if  there  was  any  message  to  us,  for  good  or  for  qy\\ 
from  the  distant  world  we  had  left  for  so  long,  it  was  now  wait- 
ing for  us  on  shore. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

EVIL    TIDINGS. 

We  had  indeed  returned  to  the  world :  the  first  thing  we  saw 
on  entering  the  saloon  in  the  morning  was  a  number  of  letters 
— actual  letters  that  had  come  through  a  post-office — lying  on 
the  breakfast  table.     We  stared  at  these  strange  things.     Our 

good  Queen  T was  the  first  to  approach  them.     She  took 

them  up  as  if  she  expected  they  would  bite  her. 

"  Oh,  Mary,"  she  says,  "  there  is  not  one  for  you — not  one  !" 

Angus  Sutherland  glanced  quickly  at  the  girl.  But  there  was 
not  the  least  trace  of  disappointment  on  her  face.  On  the  con- 
trary, she  said,  with  a  cheerful  indifference, 

"  So  much  the  better.     They  only  bother  people." 


102  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 

Bat  of  course  they  had  to  be  opened  and  read — even  the  bulk}' 
parcel  from  Strathgovan.  And  amidst  much  trivial  domestic  and 
other  news,  one  of  us  stumbled  upon  one  little  item  that  certainly 
concerned  us.  It  was  a  clipping  from  the  advertisement  column 
of  a  newspaper.  It  was  enclosed,  without  word  or  comment,  by 
a  friend  in  London  who  knew  that  we  were  slightly  acquainted, 
perforce,  with  Mr.  Frederick  Smethurst.  And  it  appeared  that 
that  gentleman,  having  got  into  difficulties  with  his  creditors, 
had  taken  himself  off  in  a  surreptitious  and  evil  manner,  inso- 
much that  this  newspaper  clipping  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
a  Hue  and  Cry  after  the  fraudulent  bankrupt.  That  letter  and 
its  startling  enclosure  were  quickly  whipped  into  the  pocket  of 
the  lady  to  whom  they  had  been  sent. 

By  great  good  luck  Mary  Avon  was  the  first  to  go  on  deck. 
She  was  anxious  to  see  this  new  harbor  into  which  we  had  got. 
And  then,  with  considerable  dismay  on  her  face,  our  sovereign 
mistress  showed  us  this  ugly  thing.  She  was  much  excited.  It 
was  so  shameful  of  him  to  bring  this  disgrace  on  Mary  Avon ! 
What  would  the  poor  girl  say?  And  this  gentle  lady  would  not 
for  worlds  have  her  told  while  she  was  with  us — until,  at  least,  we 
got  back  to  some  more  definite  channel  of  information.  She  was, 
indeed,  greatly  distressed. 

But  we  had  to  order  her  to  dismiss  these  idle  troubles.  We 
formed  ourselves  into  a  committee  on  the  spot;  and  this  com- 
mittee unanimously,  if  somewhat  prematurely  and  recklessly,  re- 
solved : 

First,  that  it  was  not  of  the  slightest  consequence  to  us  or  any 
human  creature  where  Mr.  Frederick  Smethurst  was,  or  what  he 
might  do  with  himself. 

Secondly,  that  if  Mr.  Frederick  Smethurst  were  to  put  a  string 
and  a  stone  round  his  neck  and  betake  himself  to  the  bottom 
of  the  sea,  he  would  earn  our  gratitude,  and  in  some  measure 
atone  for  his  previous  conduct. 

Thirdly,  that  notliing  at  all  about  the  matter  should  be  said 
to  Mary  Avon :  if  the  man  had  escaped,  there  might  probably  be 
an  end  of  the  whole  business. 

To  these  resolutions,  carried  swiftly  and  unanimously,  Angus 
Sutherland  added  a  sort  of  desultory  rider,  to  the  effect  that 
moral  or  immoral  qualities  do  sometimes  reveal  themselves  in 
the  face.     lie  was  also  of  opinion  that  spare  persons  were  more 


EVIL    TIDIxVGS.  103 

easy  of  detection  in  this  manner.  He  gave  an  instance  of  a  well- 
known  character  in  London — a  most  promising-  ruffian  who  liad 
run  tlirougli  the  whole  gamut  of  discreditable  oifences.  Why  was 
there  no  record  of  this  brave  career  written  in  the  man's  face? 
Because  nature  had  obliterated  the  lines  in  fat.  When  a  man 
attains  to  the  dimensions  and  appearance  of  a  scrofulous  toad 
swollen  to  the  size  of  an  ox,  moral  and  mental  traces  get  rubbed 
out.  Therefore,  contended  our  F.R.S.,  all  persons  who  set  out 
on  a  career  of  villany,  and  don't  want  to  be  found  out,  should 
eat  fat-producing  foods.  Potatoes  and  sugar  be  especially  men- 
tioned as  being  calculated  to  conceal  crime. 

However,  we  had  to  banish  Frederick  Smetlmrst  and  his  evil 
deeds  from  our  minds ;  for  the  yacht  from  end  to  end  was  in  a 
bustle  of  commotion  about  our  going  ashore ;  and  as  for  us,  why, 
Ave  meant  to  run  riot  in  all  the  wonders  and  delights  of  civiliza- 
tion. Innumerable  fowls,  tons  of  potatoes  and  cabbage  and  let- 
tuce, fresh  butter,  new  loaves,  new  milk :  there  was  no  end  to 
the  visions  that  rose  before  tlie  excited  brain  of  our  chief  com- 
missariat officer.  And  when  the  Laird,  in  the  act  of  stepping, 
with  much  dignity,  into  the  gig,  expressed  his  firm  conviction 
that  somewhere  or  other  we  should  stumble  upon  a  Glasgow 
newspaper  not  more  than  a  week  old,  so  that  he  might  show  us 
the  reports  of  the  meetings  of  the  Strathgovan  Commissioners, 
we  knew  of  no  further  luxury  that  the  mind  could  desire. 

And  as  we  were  being  rowed  ashore,  we  could  not  fail  to  be 
struck  by  the  extraordinary  abundance  of  life  and  business  and 
activity  in  the  world.  Portree,  with  its  wooded  crags  and  white 
houses  shining  in  the  sun,  seemed  a  large  and  populous  city.  The 
smooth  waters  of  the  bay  were  crowded  with  craft  of  every  de- 
scription ;  and  the  boats  of  tlie  yachts  were  coming  and  going 
■with  so  many  people  on  board  of  them  that  we  were  quite  stared 
out  of  countenance.  And  then,  when  we  landed,  and  walked  up 
the  quay,  and  ascended  the  hill  into  the  town,  we  regarded  the 
signs  over  the  shop  doors  with  the  same  curiosity  that  regards 
the  commonest  features  of  a  foreign  street.  There  was  a  pecu- 
liarity about  Portree,  however,  that  is  not  met  with  in  Continental 
capitals.  We  felt  tliat  the  ground  swayed  lightly  under  our  feet. 
Perhaps  these  were  the  last  oscillations  of  the  great  volcanic  dis- 
turbance that  shot  the  black  Coolins  into  the  sky. 

Then  the  shops :  such  displays  of  beautiful  things,  in  silk,  and 


104  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

wool,  and  cunning  wood-work ;  human  ingenuity  declaring  itself 
in  a  thousand  ways,  and  appealing  to  our  purses.  Our  purses,  to 
tell  the  truth,  were  gaping.  A  craving  for  purchase  possessed  us. 
But,  after  all,  the  Laird  could  not  buy  servant-girls'  scarfs  as  a 
present  for  Mary  Avon,  and  Angus  Sutherland  did  not  need  a 
second  water -proof  coat;  and  though  we  reached  the  telegraph 
office,  there  would  have  been  a  certain  monotony  in  spending  in- 
numerable shillings  on  unnecessary  telegrams,  even  though  we 
might  be  rejoicing  in  one  of  the  highest  conveniences  of  civiliza- 
tion. The  plain  truth  luust  be  told.  Our  purchases  were  limited 
to  some  tobacco  and  a  box  or  two  of  paper  collars  for  the  men, 
to  one  or  two  shilling  novels,  and  a  flask  of  eau-de-Cologne.  We 
did  not  half  avail  ourselves  of  all  the  luxuries  spread  out  so  tempt- 
ingly before  us, 

"  Do  you  think  the  men  will  have  the  w'ater  on  board  yet  ?" 
Mary  Avon  says,  as  we  walk  back.  "I  do  not  at  all  like  being 
on  land.     The  sun  scorches  so,  and  the  air  is  stifling.'" 

"  In  my  opeenion,"  says  the  Laird,  "  the  authorities  of  Portree 
are  deserving  of  great  credit  for  having  fixed  up  the  apparatus  to 
let  boats  get  water  on  board  at  the  quay.  It  was  a  public-spirited 
project — it  was  that.  And  I  do  not  suppose  that  any  one  grum- 
bles at  having  to  pay  a  shilling  for  the  privilege.  It  is  a  legeeti- 
mate  tax.  I  am  sure  it  would  have  been  a  long  time  or  we  could 
have  got  such  a  thing  at  Strathgovan,  if  there  was  need  for  it 
there.  Ye  would  scarcely  believe  it,  ma'am,  what  a  spirit  of  op- 
position there  is  among  some  o'. -the  Commissioners  to  any  im- 
provement :  \'e  would  not  believe  it." 

"  Indeed,"  she  says,  in  innocent  wonder ;  she  quite  sympathizes 
with  this  public-spirited  reformer. 

"Ay,  it's  true.  Mind  ye,  I  am  a  Conservative  myself;  I  will 
have  nothing  to  do  with  Radicals  and  their  Republics ;  no,  no, 
but  a  wise  Conservative  knows  how  to  march  with  the  age.  Take 
my  own  poseetion  :  for  example,  as  soon  as  I  saw  that  the  steam 
fire-engine  was  a  necessity,  I  withdrew  my  opposition  at  once.  I 
am  very  thankful  to  you,  ma'am,  for  having  given  me  an  oppor- 
tunity of  carefully  considering  the  question.  I  will  never  forget 
our  trip  round  Mull.  r)ear  nie !  it  is  warm  the  day,"  added  the 
Laird,  as  he  raised  his  broad  felt-hat,  and  wi])ed  his  face  with  his 
voluminous  silk  handkerchief. 

Here  come  two  pedestrians,  good-looking  young  lads  of  an  ob- 


EVIL    TIDINGS.  105 

viously  English  type,  and  faultlessly  equipped  from  head  to  heel. 
They  look  neither  to  the  left  nor  right;  on  they  go  manfully 
through  the  dust,  the  sun  scorching  their  faces ;  there  must  be  a 
trifle  of  heat  under  these  knapsacks.  Well,  we  wish  them  fine 
weather  and  whole  heels.  It  is  not  the  way  some  of  us  would 
like  to  pass  a  holiday.  For  what  is  this  that  Miss  Avon  is  sing- 
ing lightly  to  herself  as  she  walks  carelessly  on,  occasionally  paus- 
ing to  look  in  at  a  shop  ? 

" '  And  often  have  we  seamen  heard  how  men  are  killed  or  midone, 
By  overturns  of  carriages,  and  thieves,  and  fires  in  London.'  " 

Here  she  turns  aside  to  caress  a  small  terrier;  but  the  animal, 
mistaking  her  intention,  barks  furiously,  and  retreats,  growhng 
and  ferocious,  into  the  shop.  Miss  Avon  is  not  disturbed.  She 
walks  on,  and  completes  her  nautical  ballad,  all  for  her  own  Ben- 
efit: 

" '  We've  heard  what  risk  all  landsmen  run,  from  noblemen  to  tailors. 
So,  Billy,  let's  thank  Providence  that  you  and  I  are  sailors  !'  " 

"  What  on  earth  is  that,  Mary  ?"  her  friend  behind  asks. 

The  girl  stops,  with  a  surprised  look,  as  if  she  had  scarcely 
been  listening  to  herself ;  then  she  says,  lightly, 

"Oh,  don't  you  know  the  sailor's  song? — I  forget  what  they 

call  it. 

"  '  A  strong  sou'wester's  blowing,  Billy,  can't  you  hear  it  roar  now  ? 
Lord  help  'em,  bow  I  pities  all  unhappy  folks  on  shore  now  !'  " 

"  You  have  become  a  thorough  sailor.  Miss  Avon,"  says  Angus 
Sutherland,  who  has  overheard  the  last  quotation. 

"  I — I  like  it  better — I  am  more  interested,"  she  says,  timidly, 
"  since  you  were  so  kind  as  to  show  me  the  w^orking  of  the  ship." 

"  Indeed,"  says  he,  "  I  wish  you  would  take  command  of  her, 
and  order  her  present  captain  below.  Don't  you  see  how  tired 
his  eyes  are  becoming  ?  He  won't  take  his  turn  of  sleep  like  the 
others ;  he  has  been  scarcely  off  the  deck  night  or  day  since  we 
left  Canna ;  and  I  find  it  is  no  use  remonstrating  with  him.  He 
is  too  anxious ;  and  he  fancies  I  am  in  a  hurry  to  get  back ;  and 
these  continual  calms  prevent  his  getting  ^n.  Now  the  whole 
difficulty  would  be  solved  if  you  let  me  go  back  by  the  steamer; 
then  you  could  lie  at  Portree  here  for  a  night  or  two,  and  let  him 
have  some  proper  rest." 


106  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

"  I  do  believe,  Angus,"  says  liis  hostess,  laughing  in  her  gentle 
way,  "  that  you  threaten  to  leave  us  just  to  see  how  anxious  we 
are  to  keep  you." 

"  My  position  as  ship's  doctor,"  he  retorts,  "  is  compromised. 
If  Captain  John  falls  ill  on  my  hands,  whom  am  I  to  blame  but 
myself  ?" 

"  I  am  quite  sure  I  can  get  him  to  go  below,"  says  Mary  Avon, 
with  decision — "  quite  sure  of  it.  That  is,  especially,"  she  adds, 
rather  shyly,  "  if  you  will  take  his  place.  I  know  he  would  place 
more  dependence  on  you  than  on  any  of  the  men." 

This  is  a  very  pretty  compliment  to  pay  to  one  who  is  rather 
proud  of  his  nautical  knowledge. 

"  Well,"  he  says,  laughing,  "  the  responsibility  must  rest  on 
you.  Order  him  below  to-night,  and  see  whether  he  obeys.  If 
we  don't  get  to  a  proper  anchorage,  we  will  manage  to  sail  the 
yacht  somehow  among  us — you  being  captain,  Miss  Avon." 

"  If  I  am  captain,"  she  says,  lightly — though  she  turns  away 
her  head  somewhat — "  I  shall  forbid  your  deserting  the  ship." 

"  So  long  as  you  are  captain,  you  need  not  fear  that,"  he  an- 
swers.    Surely  he  could  say  no  less. 

But  it  was  still  John  of  Skye  who  was  skipper  when,  on  get- 
ting under  way,  we  nearly  mot  with  a  serious  accident.  Fresh- 
water and  all  provisions  having  been  got  on  board,  we  weighed 
anchor  only  to  find  the  breeze  die  wholly  down.  Then  the  din- 
gey was  got  out  to  tow  the  yacht  away  from  the  sheltered  har- 
bor; and  our  young  doctor,  always  anxious  for  hard  work,  must 
needs  jtsaip  in  to  join  in  this  service.  But  the  little  boat  had 
been  straining  at  the  cable  for  scarcely  five  minutes  when  a  squall 
of  wind  came  over  from  the  north-west  and  suddenly  filled  the 
sails.  "  Look  out  there,  boys  !"  called  Captain  John,  for  we  were 
running  full  down  on  the  dingey.  "  Let  go  the  rope  !  Let  go  !" 
he  shouted  :  but  they  would  not  let  go,  as  the  dingey  came  sweep- 
ing by.  In  fact,  she  caught  the  yacht  just  below  the  quarter,  and 
seemed  to  disappear  altogether.  Mary  Avon  uttered  one  brief 
cry,  and  then  stood  pale — clasping  one  of  the  ropes — not  daring 
to  look.  And  John  of  Skye  uttered  some  exclamation  in  the 
Gaelic,  and  jumped  on  to  the  taffrail.  ]'>ut  the  next  thing  we 
saw,  just  above  the  taffrail,  was  the  red  and  shining  and  laugliing 
face  of  Angus  Sutherland,  who  was  hoisting  hims(>lf  up  by  means 
of  the  mizzen  boom;  and  directly  afterward  ai)pcared  the  scarlet 


EVIL    TIDINGS. 


107 


cap  of  Hector  of  Moidart.  It  was  upon  this  latter  culprit  that 
the  full  force  of  John  of  Skye's  wrath  was  expended. 

"  Why  did  you  not  let  go  the  rope  when  I  wass  call  to  you  ?" 

"  It  is  all  right,  and  if  I  wass  put  into  the  water,  I  have  been 
in  the  water  before,"  was  the  philosophic  reply. 

And  now  it  was,  as  we  drew  away  from  Portree,  that  Captain 
Mary  Avon  endeavored  to  assume  supreme  command,  and  would 
have  the  deposed  skipper  go  below  and  sleep.  John  of  Skye  was 
very  obedient,  but  he  said, 

"  Oh  ay  ;  I  will  get  plenty  of  sleep.  But  that  hill  there,  that 
is  Ben-Inivaig ;  and  there  is  not  any  hill  in  the  West  Highlands 
so  bad  for  squalls  as  that  hill.  By-and-by  I  will  get  plenty  of 
sleep." 

Ben-Inivaig  let  us  go  past  its  great,  gloomy,  forbidding  shoul- 
ders and  cliffs  without  visiting  us  with  anything  worse  than  a 
few  variable  puffs;  and  we  got  well  down  into  the  Eaasay  Nar- 
rows. What  a  picture  of  still  summer  loveliness  was  around  us ! 
— the  rippling  blue  seas,  the  green  shores,  and  far  over  these  the 
black  peaks  of  the  Coolins,  now  taking  a  purple  tint  in  the  glow 
of  the  afternoon.  The  shallow  Sound  of  Scalpa  we  did  not  vent- 
ure to  attack,  especially  as  it  was  now  low-water ;  we  went  out- 
side Scalpa,  by  the  rocks  of  Skier  Dearg.  And  still  John  of  Skye 
evaded,  with  a  gentle  Highland  courtesy,  the  orders  of  the  captain. 
The  silver  bell  of  Master  Fred  summoned  us  below  for  dinner, 
and  still  John  of  Skye  was  gently  obdurate. 

"  Now,  John,"  says  Mary  Avon,  seriously,  to  him,  "  you  want 
to  make  me  angry."  .  -* 

"  Oh  no,  mem  ;  I  not  think  that,"  says  he,  deprecatingly. 

"  Then  why  won't  you  go  and  have  some  sleep  ?  Do  you  want 
to  be  ill  ?" 

"Oh,  there  iss  plenty  of  sleep,"  says  he.  "  Maybe  we  will  get 
to  Kyle  Akin  to-night ;  and  there  will  be  plcntv  of  sleep  for 
us." 

"  But  I  am  asking  you  as  a  favor  to  go  and  get  some  sleep 
now.     Surely  the  men  can  take  charge  of  the  yacht." 

"  Oh  yes,  oh  yes,"  says  John  of  Skye ;  "  they  can  do  that  ferry 
well." 

And  then  he  paused,  for  he  was  great  friends  with  this  young 
lady,  and  did  not  like  to  disoblige  her. 

"You  will  be  having  your  dinner  now.     After  the  dinner,  if 


108  WHITE  wings:   a  yachting  romance. 

Mr.  Sutherland  himself  will  be  on  deck,  I  will  go  below  and  turn 
in  for  a  time." 

"Of  course  Dr.  Sutherland  will  be  on  deck,"  says  the  new 
captain,  promptly ;  and  she  was  so  sure  of  one  member  of  her 
crew  that  she  added,  "  and  he  will  not  leave  the  tiller  for  a  mo- 
ment until  you  come  to  relieve  him." 

Perhaps  it  was  this  promise,  perhaps  it  was  the  wonderful 
beauty  of  the  evening,  that  made  us  hurry  over  dinner.  Then 
we  went  on  deck  again ;  and  our  young  doctor,  having  got  all 
his  bearings  and  directions  clear  in  his  head,  took  the  tiller,  and 
John  of  Skye  at  length  succumbed  to  the  authority  of  Com- 
mander Avon,  and  disappeared  into  the  forecastle. 

The  splendor  of  color  around  us  on  that  still  evening ! — away 
in  the  west  the  sea  of  a  pale  yellow-green,  with  each  ripple  a  flash 
of  rose  flame,  and  over  there  in  the  south  the  great  mountains  of 
Skye — the  Coolins,  and  Blaven,  and  Ben-na-Cailleach — become  of 
a  plum  purple  in  the  clear  and  cloudless  sky.  Angus  Sutherland 
was  at  the  tiller,  contemplatively  smoking  an  almost  black  meer- 
schaum ;  the  Laird  was  discoursing  to  us  about  the  extraordinary 
pith  and  conciseness  of  the  Scotch  phrases  in  the  Northumbrian 
psalter;  while  ever  and  anon  a  certain  young  lady,  linked  arm-in- 
arm with  her  friend,  would  break  the  silence  with  some  aimless 
fragment  of  ballad  or  old-world  air. 

And  still  we  glided  onward  in  the  beautiful  evening ;  and  now 
ahead  of  us,  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  the  red  star  of  Kyle 
Akin  Light-house  steadily  gleamed.'*  We  might  get  to  anchor, 
after  all,  without  awaking  John  of  Skye. 

"  In  weather  like  this,"  remarked  our  sovereign  lady,  "  in  the 
gathering  darkness,  John  might  keep  asleep  for  fifty  years." 

"  Like  Rip  Van  Winkle,"  said  the  Laird,  proud  of  his  erudi- 
tion. "  That  is  a  wonderful  story  that  Washington  Irving  wrote 
— a  verra  fine  story." 

"  Washington  Irving ! — the  story  is  as  old  as  the  Coolins," 
said  Dr.  Sutherland. 

The  Laird  stared  as  if  he  had  been  Rip  Van  Winkle  himself: 
was  he  forever  to  be  checkmated  by  the  encyclopedic  knowledge 

*  Oh  yes,  Mr.  Yachtsman,  you  are  perfectly  correct.  Sailing  according  to 
strict  rules,  we  ought  to  have  kept  Kyle  Akin  light  white:  no  doubt.  But 
then,  you  see,  some  of  us  had  been  round  llii.s  coast  once  or  twice  before — 
perhaps  even  three  or  four  times.     We  were  not  in  imminent  danger. 


TEMPTATION.  109 

of  Young  England — or  Young  Scotland  rather — and  that  knowl- 
edge only  the  gathcruigs  and  sweepings  of  musty  books  that  any- 
body with  a  parrot-like  habit  might  acquire? 

"  Why,  surely  you  know  that  the  legend  belongs  to  that  com- 
mon stock  of  legends  that  go  through  all  literatures  ?"  says  our 
young  doctor.  "I  have  no  doubt  the  Hindoos  have  their  Epi- 
nienides ;  and  that  Peter  Klaus  turns  up  somewhere  or  other  in 
the  Gaelic  stories.  However,  that  is  of  little  importance ;  it  is 
of  importance  that  Captain  John  should  get  some  sleep.  Hector, 
come  here !" 

There  was  a  brief  consultation  about  the  length  of  anchor 
chain  wanted  for  the  little  harbor  opposite  Kyle  Akin :  Hector's 
instructions  were  on  no  account  to  disturb  John  of  Skye.  But 
no  sooner  had  they  set  about  getting  the  chain  on  deck  than  an- 
other figure  appeared,  black  among  the  rigging;  and  there  was 
a  well-known  voice  heard  forward.  Then  Captain  John  came  aft, 
and,  despite  all  remonstrances,  would  relieve  his  substitute.  Rip 
Van  Winkle's  sleep  had  lasted  about  an  hour  and  a  half. 

And  now  we  steal  by  the  black  shores ;  and  that  solitary  red 
star  comes  nearer  and  nearer  in  the  dusk ;  and  at  length  we  can 
make  out  two  or  three  other  paler  lights  close  down  by  the  water. 
Behold !  the  yellow  ports  of  a  steam-yacht  at  anchor ;  we  know, 
as  our  own  anchor  goes  rattling  out  in  the  dark,  that  we  shall 
have  at  least  one  neighbor  and  companion  through  the  still  watch- 
es of  the  niffht. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

TEMPTATION. 

But  the  night,  according  to  John  of  Skye's  chronology,  lasts 
only  until  the  tide  tunis,  or  until  a  breeze  springs  up.  Long  be- 
fore the  wan  glare  in  the  east  has  arisen  to  touch  the  highest 
peaks  of  the  Coolins,  we  hear  the  tread  of  the  men  on  deck  get- 
ting the  yacht  under  way.  And  then  there  is  a  shuffling  noise 
in  Angus  Sutherland's  cabin ;  and  we  guess  that  he  is  stealthily 
dressing  in  the  dark.  Is  he  anxious  to  behold  the  wonders  of 
daybreak  in  the  beautiful  Loch  Alsh,  or  is  he  bound  to  take  his 
share  in  the  sailing  of  the  ship?     Less  perturbed  spirits  sink 


110  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

back  again  into  sleep,  and  contentedly  let  the  White  Dove  go  on 
lier  own  way  through  the  expanding  blue-gray  light  of  the  dawn. 

Hours  afterward  there  is  a  strident  shouting  down  the  com- 
panion-way ;  everybody  is  summoned  on  deck  to  watch  the  yacht 
shoot  the  Narrows  of  Kyle  Rhea.  And  the  Laird  is  the  first  to 
express  his  surprise ;  are  these  the  dreaded  Narrows  that  have 
caused  Captain  John  to  start  before  daybreak  so  as  to  shoot  them 
with  the  tide?  All  around  is  a  dream  of  summer  beauty  and 
quiet.  A  more  perfect  picture  of  peace  and  loveliness  could  not 
be  imagined  than  the  green  crags  of  the  main-land,  and  the  vast 
hills  of  Skye,  and  this  placid  channel  between,  shining  in  the  fair 
light  of  the  morning.  The  only  thing  we  notice  is  that  on  the 
glassy  green  of  the  water  —  this  reflected,  deep,  almost  opaque 
green  is  not  unlike  the  color  of  Niagara  below  the  Falls — there 
are  smooth  circular  lines  here  and  there ;  and  now  and  again  the 
bows  of  the  White  Dove  slowly  swerve  awaj'^  from  her  course  as 
if  in  obedience  to  some  unseen  and  mysterious  pressure.  There 
is  not  a  breath  of  wind ;  and  it  needs  all  the  pulling  of  the  two 
men  out  there  in  the  dingey,  and  all  the  watchful  steering  of  Cap- 
tain John,  to  keep  her  head  straight.  Then  a  light  breeze  comes 
along  the  great  gully;  the  red -capped  men  are  summoned  on 
board ;  the  dingey  is  left  astern ;  the  danger  of  being  caught  in 
an  eddy  and  swirled  ashore  is  over  and  gone. 

Suddenly  the  yacht  stops  as  if  it  had  run  against  a  wall.  Then, 
just  as  she  recovers,  there  is  an  extraordinary  hissing  and  roaring 
in  the  dead  silence  around  us,  and  close  by  the  yacht  we  find  a 
great  circle  of  boiling  and  foaming  water,  forced  up  from  below 
and  overlapping  itself  in  ever-increasing  folds.  And  then,  on  the 
perfectly  glassy  sea,  another  and  another  of  those  boiling  and 
hissing  circles  appears,  until  there  is  a  low  rnmbling  in  the  sum- 
mer air  like  the  breaking  of  distant  waves.  And  the  yacht — the 
wind  having  again  died  down — is  curiously  compelled  one  way 
and  another,  insomuch  that  John  of  Skye  quickly  orders  the  men 
out  in  the  dingey  again  ;  and  asxain  the  lonii'  cable  is  tugging  at 
her  bows. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  says  Dr.  Siijherland  to  our  skipper,  "that 
we  are  in  the  middle  of  al)out  a  thousand  whirlpools." 

"Oh,  it  iss  ferry  quate  this  morning,"  says  Captain  John,  with 
a  slirewd  smile.  "It  is  not  often  so  quate  as  this.  Ay,  it  iss 
sometimes  ferry  l)ad  lierc — quite  so  bad  as  Corricvreckan ;  and 


TEMPTATION.  Ill 

when  the  flood-tide  is  rinnin,  it  will  be  rinnin  like — shist  like  a 
race-horse." 

However,  by  dint  of  much  hard  pulling  and  judicious  steering, 
we  manage  to  keep  the  White  Dove  pretty  well  in  mid-current ; 
and  only  once — and  that  but  for  a  second  or  two — get  caught  in 
one  of  those  eddies  circling  in  to  the  shore.  We  pass  the  white 
ferry-house ;  a  slight  breeze  carries  us  by  the  green  shores  and 
woods  of  Glenelg ;  we  open  out  the  wider  sea  between  Isle  Orn- 
say  and  Loch  Hourn ;  and  then  a  silver  tinkle  tells  us  breakfast 
is  ready. 

That  long,  beautiful,  calm  summer  day  :  Ferdinand  and  Miran- 
da playing  draughts  on  deck,  he  having  rigged  up  an  umbrella  to 
shelter  her  from  the  hot  sun ;  the  Laird  busy  with  papers  refer- 
ring to  the  Strathgovan  Public  Park ;  the  hostess  of  these  peo- 
ple overhauling  the  stores,  and  meditating  on  something  recondite 
for  dinner.     At  last  the  doctor  fairly  burst  out  a-laughing. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  have  been  in  many  a  yacht,  but  never  yet 
in  one  where  everybody  on  board  was  anxiously  waiting  for  the 
glass  to  fall." 

His  hostess  laughed  too. 

"  When  you  come  south  again,"  she  said,  "  we  may  be  able  to 
give  you  a  touch  of  something  different.  I  think  that,  even  with 
all  your  love  of  gales,  a  few  days  of  the  equinoctials  would  quite 
satisfy  you." 

"  The  equinoctials  !"  he  said,  with  a  surprised  look. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  boldly.  "  ^Vhy  not  have  a  good  holiday  while 
you  are  about  it  ?  And  a  yachting  trip  is  nothing  without  a  fight 
with  the  equinoctials.  Oh,  you  have  no  idea  how  splendidly  the 
White  Dove  behaves !" 

"  I  should  like  to  try  her,"  he  said,  with  a  quick  delight ;  but 
directly  afterward  he  ruefully  shook  his  head.  "  No,  no,"  said 
he, "  such  a  tremendous  spell  of  idleness  is  not  for  me.  I  have 
not  earned  the  right  to  it  yet.  Twenty  years  hence  I  may  be 
able  to  have  three  months'  continued  yachting  in  the  West  High- 
lands." 

"  If  I  were  you,"  retorted  this  small  person,  with  a  practical  air, 
"  I  would  take  it  when  I  could  get  it.  What  do  you  know  about 
twenty  years  hence? — you  may  be  physician  to  the  Emperor  of 
China.  And  you  have  worked  very  hard ;  and  you  ought  to  take 
as  long  a  holiday  as  you  can  get." 

6 


112  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

"  I  am  sure,"  says  Mary  Avon,  very  timidly,  "  that  is  very  wise 
advice," 

"  In  the  mean  time,"  says  he,  cheerfully,  "  I  am  not  physician 
to  the  Emperor  of  China,  but  to  the  passengers  and  crew  of  the 
White  Dove.  The  passengers  don't  do  me  the  honor  of  consult- 
ing me ;  but  I  am  going  to  prescribe  for  the  crew  on  my  own  re- 
sponsibility. All  I  want  is  that  I  shall  have  the  assistance  of  Miss 
Avon  in  making  them  take  the  dose." 

Miss  Avon  looked  up  inquiringly  with  those  soft  black  eyes 
of  hers. 

"  Nobody  has  any  control  over  them  but  herself — they  are  like 
refractory  children.  Now,"  said  he,  rather  more  seriously,  "  this 
night-and-day  work  is  telling  on  the  men.  Another  week  of  it, 
and  you  would  see  Insomnia  written  in  large  letters  on  their  eyes. 
I  want  you.  Miss  Avon,  to  get  Captain  John  and  the  men  to  have 
a  complete  night's  rest  to-night — a  sound  night's  sleep  from  the 
time  we  finish  dinner  till  daybreak.  We  can  take  charge  of  the 
yacht." 

Miss  Avon  promptly  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  John  !"  she  called. 

The  big  brown-bearded  skipper  from  Skye  came  aft — quickly 
putting  his  pipe  in  his  waistcoat  pocket  the  while. 

"  John,"  she  said,  "  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favor  now.  You 
and  the  men  have  not  been  having  enough  sleep  lately.  You 
must  all  go  below  to-night  as  soon  as  we  come  up  from  dinner ; 
and  you  must  have  a  good  sleep  till  daybreak.  The  gentlemen 
will  take  charge  of  the  yacht." 

It  was  in  vain  that  John  of  Skye  protested  he  was  not  tired. 
It  was  in  vain  that  he  assured  her  that,  if  a  good  breeze  sprung 
up,  we  might  get  right  back  to  Castle  Osprey  by  the  next  morn- 
ing. 

"  Why,  you  know  very  well,"  she  said,  "  this  calm  weather 
means  to  last  forever." 

"  Oh  no  !  I  not  think  that,  mem,"  said  John  of  Skye,  smiling. 

"  At  all  events,  we  shall  be  sailing  all  night ;  and  that  is  what  I 
want  you  to  do,  as  a  favor  to  me." 

Indeed,  our  ski[)pcr  found  it  was  of  no  use  to  refuse.  The 
young  lady  was  peremptory.  And  so,  having  settled  that  matter, 
she  sat  down  to  her  draught-board  again. 

But  it  was  the  Laird  she  was  playing  with  now.    And  this  was 


TEMPTATION.  113 

a  remarkable  circumstance  about  the  game :  when  Angus  Suther- 
land played  with  Denny-mains,  the  latter  was  hopelessly  and  in- 
variably bejften ;  and  when  Denny-mains  in  his  turn  played  with 
Mary  Avon,  he  was  relentlessly  and  triumphantly  the  victor ;  but 
when  Angus  Sutherland  played  with  Miss  Avon,  she,  somehow  or 
other,  generally  managed  to  secure  two  out  of  three  games.  It 
was  a  puzzling  triangular  duel :  the  chief  feature  of  it  was  the 
splendid  joy  of  the  Laird  when  he  had  conquered  the  English 
young  lady.  He  rubbed  his  hands,  he  chuckled,  he  laughed — 
just  as  if  he  had  been  repeating  one  of  his  own  "  good  ones." 

However,  at  luncheon  the  Laird  was  much  more  serious ;  for 
he  was  showing  to  us  how  remiss  the  government  was  in  not  tak- 
ing up  the  great  solan  question.  He  had  a  newspaper  cutting 
which  gave  in  figures — in  rows  of  figures — the  probable  number 
of  millions  of  herrings  destroyed  every  year  by  the  solan-geese. 
The  injury  done  to  the  herring  fisheries  of  this  county,  he  proved 
to  us,  was  enormous.  If  a  solan  is  known  to  eat  on  an  average 
fifty  herrings  a  day,  just  think  of  the  millions  on  millions  of 
fish  that  must  go  to  feed  those  nests  on  the  Bass  Rock !  The 
Laird  waxed  quite  eloquent  about  it.  The  human  race  were 
dearer  to  him  far  than  any  gannet  or  family  of  gannets. 

"  What  I  wonder  at  is  this,"  said  our  young  doctor,  with  a 
curious  grim  smile  that  we  had  learned  to  know,  coming  over  his 
face,  "  that  the  solan,  with  that  extraordinary  supply  of  phos- 
phorus to  the  brain,  should  have  gone  on  remaining  only  a  bird, 
and  a  very  ordinary  bird,  too.  Its  brain  power  should  have  been 
developed  ;  it  should  be  able  to  speak  by  this  time.  In  fact,  there 
ought  to  be  solan  school  boards  and  parochial  boards  on  the  Bass 
Rock;  and  commissioners  appointed  to  inquire  whether  the  build- 
ing of  nests  might  not  be  conducted  on  more  scientific  principles. 
When  I  was  a  boy — I  am  son-y  to  say,  I  used  often  to  catch  a 
solan  by  floating  out  a  piece  of  wood  with  a  dead  herring  on  it: 
a  wise  bird,  with  its  brain  fall  of  phosphorus,  ought  to  have 
known  that  it  would  break  its  head  when  it  swooped  down  on  a 
piece  of  wood." 

The  Laird  sat  in  dignified  silence.  There  was  something  oc- 
cult and  uncanny  about  many  of  this  young  man's  sayings — they 
savored  too  much  of  the  dangerous  and  unsettling  tendencies  of 
these  modern  days.  Besides,  he  did  not  see  what  good  could 
come  of  likening  a  lot  of  solan-geese  to  the  Commissioners  of 


114  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

the  Biirgli  of  Strathgovan.  His  remarks  on  the  herring  fisheries 
had  been  practical  and  intelligible ;  they  had  given  no  occasion 
for  gibes.  • 

We  were  suddenly  startled  by  the  rattling  out  of  the  anchor 
chain.  What  could  it  mean?  —  were  we  caught  in  an  eddy? 
There  was  a  scurrying  up  on  deck,  only  to  find  that,  having  drift- 
ed so  far  south  with  the  tide,  and  the  tide  beginning  to  turn,  John 
of  Skye  proposed  to  secure  what  advantage  we  had  gained,  by 
coming  to  anchor.  There  was  a  sort  of  shamed  laughter  over 
this  business.  Was  the  noble  White  Dove  only  a  river  barge, 
then,  that  she  was  thus  dependent  on  the  tides  for  her  progress  ? 
But  it  was  no  use  either  to  laugh  or  to  grumble ;  two  of  us  pro- 
posed to  row  the  Laird  away  to  certain  distant  islands  that  lie  off 
the  shore  north  of  the  mouth  of  Loch  Hourn ;  and  for  amuse- 
ment's sake  we  took  some  towels  with  us. 

Look  now  how  this  long  and  shapely  gig  cuts  the  blue  water. 
The  Laird  is  very  dignified  in  the  stern,  with  the  tiller-ropes  in 
his  hand ;  he  keeps  a  straight  coarse  enough,  though  he  is  most- 
ly looking  over  the  side.  And  indeed  this  is  a  perfect  wonder- 
hall  over  which  we  are  making  our  way — the  water  so  clear  that 
we  notice  the  fish  darting  here  and  there  among  the  great  brown 
blades  of  the  tangle  and  the  long  green  sea-grass.  Then  there 
are  stretches  of  yellow  sand,  with  shells  and  star-fish  shining  far 
below.  The  sun  burns  on  our  hands;  there  is  a  dead  stillness 
of  heat ;  the  measured  splash  of  the  oars  startles  the  sea-birds  in 
there  among  the  rocks. 

"  Send  the  biorlinn  on  careering, 
Cheerily  and  all  together — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen ! 
A  long,  strong  pull  togethei" — 
Ho,  ro,  clansmen !" 

Look  out  for  the  shallows,  most  dignified  cockswains:  what  if 
we  were  to  imbed  her  bows  in  the  silver  sand  ? — 

"  Another  cheer  !     Our  isle  appears. 
Our  biorlinn  bears  her  on  the  faster — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen ! 
A  long,  strong  pull  together — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen !" 

"Hold  hard!"  calls  Denny -mains;  and  behold!  we  are  in 
among  a  net-work  of  channels  and  small  islands  lying  out  here 


TEMPTATION.  115 

in  the  calm  sea;  and  the  birds  are  wiklly  calling  and  screaming 
and  swooping  about  our  heads,  indignant  at  the  approach  of 
strangers.  What  is  our  first  duty,  then,  in  coming  to  these  un- 
known islands  and  straits!  —  why,  surely,  to  name  them  in  the 
interests  of  civilization.  And  we  do  so  accordingly.  Here — let 
it  be  forever  known — is  John  Smith  Bay.  There,  Thorley's  Food 
for  Cattle  Island.  Beyond  that,  on  the  south,  Brown  and  Pol- 
son's  Straits.*  It  is  quite  true  that  these  islands  and  bays  may 
have  been  previously  visited ;  but  it  was  no  doubt  a  long  time 
ago;  and  the  people  did  not  stop  to  bestow  names.  The  lati- 
tude and  longitude  may  be  dealt  with  afterward ;  meanwhile  the 
discoverers  unanimously  resolve  that  the  most  beautiful  of  all  the 
islands  shall  hereafter,  through  all  time,  be  known  as  the  Island 
of  Mary  Avon. 

It  was  on  this  island  that  the  Laird  achieved  his  memorable 
capture  of  a  young  sea-bird — a  huge  creature  of  unknown  species 
that  fluttered  and  scrambled  over  bush  and  over  scaur,  while  Den- 
ny-mains, quite  forgetting  his  dignity  and  the  heat  of  the  sun, 
clambered  after  it  over  the  rocks.  And  when  he  got  it  in  his 
hands,  it  lay  as  one  dead.  He  was  sorry.  He  regarded  the  new- 
ly fledged  thing  with  compassion,  and  laid  it  tenderly  down  on 
the  grass,  and  came  away  down  again  to  the  shore.  But  he  had 
scarcely  turned  his  back,  when  the  demon  bird  got  on  its  legs, 
and,  with  a  succession  of  shrill  and  sarcastic  "  yawps,"  was  off 
and  away  over  the  higher  ledges.  No  fasting  girl  had  ever 
shammed  so  completely  as  this  scarcely  fledged  bird. 

We  bathed  in  Brown  and  Poison's  Straits,  to  the  great  distress 
of  certain  sea-pyots  that  kept  screaming  over  our  heads,  resenting 
the  intrusion  of  the  discoverers.  But  in  the  midst  of  it  we  were 
suddenly  called  to  observe  a  strange  darkness  on  the  sea,  far  away 
in  the  north,  between  Glenelg  and  Skye.  Behold !  the  long-look- 
ed-for  wind — a  hurricane  swooping  down  from  the  northern  hills ! 
Our  toilet  on  the  hot  rocks  was  of  brief  duration ;  we  jumped 
into  the  gig ;  away  we  went  through  the  glassy  water.  It  was  a 
race  between  us  and  the  northerly  breeze  which  should  reach  the 
yacht  first;  and  we  could  see  that  John  of  Skye  had  remarked 

*  Advertisers  will  please  communicate  with  the  publishers.  Further  ex- 
peditions will  be  fitted  out — for  Africa  and  elsewhere.  The  most  obscure 
persons  generously  treated  with.  We  hope,  by  a  strict  attention  to  business, 
to  give  satisfaction  to  our  employers. 


IIG  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 

the  coming  wind,  for  the  men  were  hoisting  the  fore  -  staysail. 
The  dark  bkie  on  the  water  spreads ;  the  retiections  of  the  hills 
and  the  clouds  gradually  disappear;  as  we  clamber  on  board,  the 
first  puffs  of  the  breeze  are  touching  the  great  sails.  The  anchor 
has  just  been  got  up ;  the  gig  is  hoisted  to  the  davits ;  slack  out 
the  main-sheet,  you  shifty  Hector,  and  let  the  great  boom  go  out ! 
Nor  is  it  any  mere  squall  that  has  come  down  from  the  hills,  but 
a  fine,  steady  northerly  breeze;  and  away  we  go,  with  the  white 
foam  in  our  wake.  Farewell  to  the  great  mountains  over  the 
gloomy  Loch  Hourn ;  and  to  the  light-house  over  there  at  Isle 
Ornsay ;  and  to  the  giant  shoulders  of  Ard-na-Glishnich.  Are 
not  these  the  dark  green  woods  of  Armadale  that  we  see  in  the 
west?  And  southward,  and  still  southward  we  go,  with  the  run- 
ning seas  and  the  fresh  brisk  breeze  from  the  north.  Who  knows 
where  we  may  not  be  to-night  before  Angus  Sutherland's  \fatch 
begins  ? 

There  is  but  one  thoughtful  face  on  board.  It  is  that  of  Mary 
Avon.  For  the  moment,  at  least,  she  seems  scarcely  to  rejoice 
that  we  have  at  last  got  this  grateful  wind  to  bear  us  away  to 
the  South  and  to  Castle  Osprey. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THROUGH    THE    DARK. 
"  Ahead  she  goes !  the  land  she  knows  !" 

What  though  we  sec  a  sudden  squall  come  tearing  over  from 
the  shores  of  Skye,  whitening  the  waves  as  it  approaches  us? 
The  White  Dove  is  not  afraid  of  any  squall.  And  there  are  the 
green  woods  of  Armadale,  dusky  under  the  western  glow ;  and 
here  the  sombre  heights  of  Dun  Bane ;  and  soon  we  will  open 
out  the  great  gap  of  Loch  Nevis.  We  are  running  with  the  run- 
ning waves ;  a  general  excitement  prevails ;  even  the  Laird  has 
dismissed  for  the  moment  certain  dark  suspicions  about  Fredei'- 
ick  Smethurst  that  have  for  the  last  day  or  two  been  haunting 
Iiis  mind. 

And  here  is  a  fine  sight!  —  the  great  steamer  coming  down 
from  the  north — and  the  sunset  is  burnine;  on  her  red  funnels — 


THROCGH    THE    DARK.  117 

and  behold !  slie  has  a  line  of  flags  from  her  stem  to  her  top- 
masts and  down  to  her  stern  again.  Who  is  on  board? — some 
great  laird,  or  some  gay  wedding  party  ? 

"  Now  is  yonr  chance,  Angus,"  says  Queen  T ,  almost  ma- 
liciously, as  the  steamer  slowly  gains  on  us.  "  If  you  want  to  go 
on  at  oncp,  I  know  the  captain  would  stop  for  a  minute  and  pick 
you  up." 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  second  in  a  quick,  hurt  way ;  then  he 
saw  that  she  was  only  laughing  at  him. 

"  Oh  no,  thank  you,"  he  said,  blushing  like  a  school-boy  ;  "  un- 
less you  want  to  get  rid  of  me.  I  have  been  looking  forward  to 
sailing  the  yacht  to-night." 

"And  —  and  you  said,"  remarked  Miss  Avon,  rather  timidly, 
"  that  we  should  challenge  them  again  after  dinner  this  evening." 

This  was  a  pretty  combination  :  "  we "  referred  to  Angus 
Sutherland  and  herself.  Her  elders  were  disrespectfully  described 
as  "  them."  So  the  younger  people  had  not  forgotten  how  they 
were  beaten  by  "  them  "  on  the  previous  evening. 

Is  there  a  sound  of  pipes  amidst  the  throbbing  of  the  paddles? 
What  a  crowd  of  people  swarm  to  the  side  of  the  great  vessel ! 
And  there  is  the  captain  on  the  paddle-box  —  out  all  handker- 
chiefs to  return  the  innumerable  salutations — and  good-bye,  you 
brave  Glencoe !  you  have  no  need  to  rob  us  of  any  one  of  our 
passengers. 

"Where  does  the  breeze  come  from  on  this  still  evening  ? — there 
is  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky,  and  there  is  a  drowsy  haze  of  heat  all 
along  the  land.  But  nevertheless  it  continues ;  and,  as  the  gal- 
lant White  Dove  cleaves  her  way  through  the  tumbling  sea,  we 
gradually  draw  on  to  the  Point  of  Sleat,  and  open  out  the  great 
plain  of  the  Atlantic,  now  a  golden  green,  where  the  tops  of  the 
waves  catch  the  light  of  the  sunset  skies.  And  there,  too,  are  our 
old  friends  Haleval  and  Ilaskeval ;  but  they  are  so  far  away,  and 
set  amidst  such  a  bewildering  light,  that  the  whole  island  seems 
to  be  of  a  pale  transparent  rose  -  purple.  And  a  still  stranger 
thing  now  attracts  the  eyes  of  all  on  board.  The  setting  sun,  as 
it  nears  the  horizon  line  of  the  sea,  appears  to  be  assuming  a  dis- 
tinctly oblong  shape.  It  is  slowly  sinking  into  a  purple  haze,  and 
becomes  more  and  more  oblong  as  it  nears  the  sea.  There  is  a 
call  for  all  the  glasses  hung  up  in  the  companion-way ;  and  now 
what  is  it  that  we  find  out  there  bv  the  aid  of  the  various  binoc- 


118  WHITE  wings:    a  yaciitixg  komaxce. 

ulars  ?  "NYliy,  apparently  a  wall  of  pnrplc ;  and  there  is  an  ol)- 
long  hole  in  it,  with  a  fire  of  gold  light  far  away  on  the  other 
side.  This  apparent  golden  tunnel  through  the  haze  grows  red- 
der and  more  red ;  it  becomes  more  and  more  elongated  ;  then  it 
burns  a  deeper  crimson,  until  it  is  almost  a  line.  The  next  mo- 
ment there  is  a  sort  of  shock  to  the  eyes;  for  there  is, a  sudden 
darkness  all  along  the  horizon  line :  the  purple-black  Atlantic  is 
barred  against  that  lurid  haze  low  down  in  the  west. 

It  was  a  merry  enough  dinner  party  :  perhaps  it  was  the  con- 
sciousness that  the  White  Dove  was  still  bowling  along  that 
brightened  up  our  spirits,  and  made  the  Laird  of  Denny-mains 
more  particularly  loquacious.  The  number  of  good  ones  that  he 
told  us  was  quite  remarkable — until  his  laughter  might  have  been 
heard  through  the  whole  ship.  And  to  whom  now  did  he  devote 
the  narration  of  those  merry  anecdotes — to  whom  but  Miss  Mary 
Avon,  who  was  his  ready  chorus  on  all  occasions,  and  who  entered 
with  a  greater  zest  than  any  one  into  the  humors  of  them  ?  Had 
she  been  studying  the  Lowland  dialect,  then,  that  she  understood 
and  laughed  so  lightly  and  joyously  at  stories  about  a  thousand 
years  of  age  ? 

"  Oh  ay,"  the  Laird  was  saying,  patronizingly,  to  her,  "  I  see  ye 
can  enter  into  the  peculiar  humor  of  our  Scotch  stories ;  it  is  not 
every  English  person  that  can  do  that.  And  ye  understand  the 
language  fine.  .  .  .  Well,"  he  added,  with  an  air  of  modest  apolo- 
gy, "  perhaps  I  do  not  give  tlie  pronnnciation  as  broad  as  I  might. 
I  have  got  out  of  the  way  of  talking  the  provincial  Scotcli  since 
I  was  a  boy — indeed,  ah'm  generally  taken  for  an  Englishman 
maself — but  I  do  my  best  to  give  ye  the  speerit  of  it." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  your  imitation  of  the  provincial  Scotch  is  most 
excellent — most  excellent — and  it  adds  so  much  to  the  humor  of 
the  stories,"  says  this  disgraceful  young  hypocrite. 

"  Oh  ay,  oh  ay,"  says  the  Laird,  greatly  delighted.  "  I  will  ad- 
mit that  some  o'  the  stories  would  not  have  so  much  humor  hnt 
for  the  language.  But  when  ye  have  both  1  J)id  ye  ever  hear 
of  the  laddie  who  was  called  in  to  his  porridge  by  his  mother  ?" 

We  perceived  by  the  twinkle  in  the  Laird's  eyes  that  a  real 
good  one  was  coming.  He  looked  round  to  see  that  we  were  lis- 
tening, but  it  was  Mary  Av<jn  whom  he  addressed. 

"A  grumbling  bit  laddie — a  philosopher,  too,"  said  he.  "His 
mother  thought  he  would  come  in  the  (piirkcr  if  he  knew  there 


THROUGH    THE    DAKK.  119 

was  a  fly  in  tlic  milk.  ''Johnny^  she  cried  out — ''Johnny^  come  in 
to  your  2i(i'fi'>tch  ;  there  s  a  Jlee  in  the  milk.^  ^It  HI  no  droon^ 
says  he.  ^Whatf  slie  says;  '^ grumhlin''  again?  Do  ye  think 
there'' s  no  enough  milk?''  '^  Plenty  for  the  parritch,^  says  he — kee  / 
kee  !  kee  ! — sharp,  eh,  wasn't  he  ?  ''Plenty  for  the  parritch,''  says 
he — ha  !  ha !  ho !  ho  !  ho  !" — and  the  Laird  slapped  his  thigh, 
and  cliuckled  to  himself.  "  Oh  ay,  Miss  Mary,"  he  added,  approv- 
ingly, "  I  see  you  are  beginning  to  understand  the  Scotch  humor 
fine." 

And  if  our  good  friend  the  Laird  had  been  but  twenty  years 
younger — with  his  battery  of  irresistible  jokes,  and  his  great  and 
obvious  affection  for  this  stray  guest  of  ours,  to  say  nothing  of 
his  dignity  and  importance  as  a  Commissioner  of  Strathgovan  ? 
AYhat  chance  would  a  poor  Scotch  student  have  had,  with  his  test- 
tubes  and  his  scientific  magazines,  his  restless,  audacious  specula- 
tions and  eager  ambitions  ?  On  the  one  side,  wealth,  ease,  a  pleas- 
ant facetiousness,  and  a  comfortable  acceptance  of  the  obvious 
facts  of  the  universe  —  including  water-rates  and  steam  fire-en- 
gines ;  on  the  other,  poverty,  unrest,  the  physical  struggle  for  ex- 
istence, the  mental  struggle  with  the  mysteries  of  life :  who  could 
doubt  what  the  choice  would  be  ?  However,  there  was  no  thought 
of  this  rivalry  now.  The  Laird  had  abdicated  in  favor  of  his 
nephew  Howard,  about  whom  he  had  been  speaking  a  good  deal 
to  Mary  Avon  of  late.  And  Angus — though  he  was  always  very 
kind  and  timidly  attentive  to  Miss  Avon— =-seemed  nevertheless  at 
times  almost  a  little  afraid  of  her ;  or  perhaps  it  was  only  a  vein 
of  shyness  that  cropped  up  from  time  to  time  through  his  hard 
mental  characteristics.  In  any  case,  he  was  at  this  moment  nei- 
ther the  shy  lover  nor  the  eager  student ;  he  was  full  of  the  pros- 
pect of  having  sole  command  of  the  ship  during  a  long  night  on 
the  Atlantic,  and  he  hurried  us  up  on  deck  after  dinner  without 
a  word  about  that  feturn  battle  at  bezique. 

The  night  had  come  on  apace,  though  there  was  still  a  raddy 
mist  about  the  northern  skies,  behind  the  dusky  purple  of  the 
Coolin  hills.  The  stars  were  out  overhead ;  the  air  around  us 
was  full  of  the  soft  cries  of  the  divers ;  occasionally,  amidst  the 
lapping  of  the  water,  we  could  hear  some  whirring  by  of  wings. 
Then  the  red  port  light  and  the  green  starboard  light  were 
brought  up  from  the  forecastle,  and  fixed  in  their  place ;  the  men 
went  below;  Angus  Sutherland  took  the  tiller;  the  Laird  kept 

6* 


120  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 

walking  backward  and  forward  as  a  sort  of  lookout ;  and  the 
two  women  were,  as  usual,  seated  on  rugs  together  in  some  invisi- 
ble corner — crooning  snatches  of  ballads,  or  making  impertinent 
remarks  about  people  much  wiser  and  older  than  themselves. 

"  Now,  Angus,"  says  the  voice  of  one  of  them,  apparently 
from  somewhere  about  the  companion,  "  show  us  that  you  can 
sail  the  yacht  properly,  and  we  will  give  you  complete  command 
during  the  equinoctials." 

"You  speak  of  the  equinoctials,"  said  he,  laughing,  "  as  if  it 
was  quite  settled  I  should  be  here  in  September." 

"  Why  not  ?"  said  she,  promptly.  "  Mary  is  my  witness  you 
promised.     You  wouldn't  go  and  desert  two  poor  lone  women  ?" 

"  But  I  have  got  that  most  uncomfortable  thing,  a  conscience," 
he  answered ;  "  and  I  know  it  would  stare  at  me  as  if  I  were  mad, 
if  I  proposed  to  spend  such  a  long  time  in  idleness.  It  would  be 
outraging  all  my  theories,  besides.  You  know,  for  years  and  years 
back  I  have  been  limiting  myself  in  every  way — living,  for  exam- 
ple, on  the  smallest  allowance  of  food  and  drink,  and  that  of  the 
simplest  and  cheapest — so  that  if  any  need  arose  I  should  have 
no  luxurious  habits  to  abandon — " 

"But  what  possible  need  can  there  be?"  says  Mary  Avon, 
warmly. 

"  Do  you  expect  to  spend  your  life  in  a  jail  ?"  said  the  other 
woman. 

"  No,"  said  he,  quite  simply  ;  "  but  I  will  give  you  an  instance 
of  what  a  man  who  devotes  himself  to  his  profession  may  have 
to  do.  A  friend  of  mine,  who  is  one  of  the  highest  living  au- 
thorities on  Materia  Medica,  refused  all  invitations  for  three 
months,  and  during  the  whole  of  that  time  lived  each  day  on 
precisely  the  same  food  and  drink,  weighed  out  in  exact  quanti- 
ties, so  as  to  determine  the  effect  of  particular  drugs  on  himself. 
Well,  you  know,  you  should  be  ready  to  do  that — " 

"  Oh,  how  wrong  you  arc !"  says  Mary  Avon,  with  the  same 
impetuosity.  "A  man  who  works  as  hard  as  you  do  should  not 
sacrifice  himself  to  a  theory.    And  what  is  it  ?    It  is  quite  foolish  !'' 

"  Mary  !"  her  friend  says. 

"  It  is,"  she  says,  with  generous  warmth.  "  It  is  like  a  man 
who  goes  through  life  with  a  coffin  on  his  back,  so  that  he  may 
be  ready  for  death.  Don't  you  think  that  when  death  comes  it 
will  be  time  enough  to  be  getting  the  coffin  ?" 


THROUGH    THE    DARK.  121 

This  was  a  poser. 

"  You  know  quite  well,"  she  says,  "  that  when  the  real  occasion 
offered,  like  the  one  you  describe,  you  could  deny  yourself  any 
luxuries  readily  enough ;  why  should  you  do  so  now  ?" 

At  this  there  was  a  gentle  sound  of  laughter. 

"Luxuries — the  luxuries  of  the  White  Dove T  says  her  host- 
ess, mindful  of  tinned  meats. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  says  our  young  doctor,  though  he  is  laughing 
too.  "  There  is  far  too  much  luxury — the  luxury  of  idleness — 
on  board  this  yacht,  to  be  wholesome  for  one  like  me." 

"  Perhaps  you  object  to  the  effeminacy  of  the  downy  couches 
and  the  feather  pillows,"  says  his  hostess,  who  is  always  grum- 
bling about  the  hardness  of  the  beds. 

But  it  appears  that  she  has  made  an  exceedingly  bad  shot. 
The  man  at  the  wheel — one  can  just  make  out  his  dark  figure 
against  the  clear  starlit  heavens,  though  occasionally  he  gets  be- 
fore the  yellow  light  of  the  binnacle — proceeds  to  assure  her  that, 
of  all  the  luxuries  of  civilization,  he  appreciates  most  a  horse-hair 
pillow,  and  that  he  attributes  his  sound  sleeping  on  board  the 
yacht  to  the  hardness  of  the  beds.  He  would  rather  lay  his  head 
on  a  brick,  he  says,  for  a  night's  rest  than  sink  it  in  the  softest 
feathers. 

"  Do  you  wonder,"  he  says,  "  that  Jacob  dreamed  of  angels 
when  he  had  a  stone  for  his  pillow  ?  I  don't.  If  I  wanted  to 
have  a  pleasant  sleep  and  fine  dreams,  that  is  the  sort  of  pillow  1 
should  have." 

Some  phrase  of  this  catches  the  ear  of  our  lookout  forward ; 
he  instantly  comes  aft. 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  singular  piece  of  testimony,"  lie  says.  "  There  is 
no  doubt  of  it ;  I  have  myself  seen  the  very  place." 

We  were  not  startled ;  we  knew  that  the  Laird,  under  the 
guidance  of  a  well-known  Free  Church  minister,  had  made  a  run 
through  Palestine. 

"  A)',"  said  he,  "  the  farther  I  went  aw^ay  from  my  own  coun- 
try, the  more  I  saw  nothing  but  decadence  and  meesery.  The 
poor  craytures  ! — living  among  ruins,  and  tombs,  and  decay,  with- 
out a  trace  of  public  spirit  or  private  energy.  The  disregard  of 
sanitary  laws  was  something  terrible  to  look  at — as  bad  as  their 
universal  beggary.  That  is  what  comes  of  centralization,  of  sup- 
pressing local  government.     Would  ye  believe  that  there  are  a 


122  AVHiTE  wings:   a  yachting  romance. 

lot  of  silly  bodies  actually  working  to  get  our  Burgli  of  Strath- 
govan  annexed  to  Glasgow — swallowed  up  in  Glasgow  ?" 

"  Impossible  !"  we  exclaim. 

"I  tell  ye  it  is  true.  But  no,  no!  we  are  not  ripe  yet  for 
those  radical  measures ;  we  are  constituted  under  an  act  of  Par- 
liament. Before  the  House  of  Commons  would  dare  to  annex 
the  free  and  flourishing  Burgh  of  Strathgovan  to  Glasgow,  I'm 
thinking  the  country  far  and  near  would  hear  something  of  it !" 

Yes ;  and  we  think  so  too.  And  we  think  it  would  be  better 
if  the  hamlets  and  towns  of  Palestine  were  governed  by  men  of 
public  spirit,  like  the  Commissioners  of  Strathgovan ;  then  they 
would  be  properly  looked  after.  Is  there  a  single  steam  fire-en- 
gine in  Jericho  ? 

However,  it  is  late ;  and  presently  the  women  say  good-night 
and  retire.  And  the  Laird  is  persuaded  to  go  below  with  them 
also ;  for  how  otherwise  could  he  have  his  final  glass  of  toddy  in 
the  saloon  ?  There  are  but  two  of  us  left  on  deck,  in  the  dark- 
ness, under  the  stars. 

It  is  a  beautiful  night,  with  those  white  and  quivering  points 
overhead,  and  the  other  white  and  burning  points  gleaming  on 
the  black  waves  that  whirl  by  the  yacht.  Beyond  the  heaving 
plain  of  waters  there  is  nothing  visible  but  the  dusky  gloom  of 
the  island  of  Eigg,  and  away  in  the  south  the  golden  eye  of  Ard- 
namurchan  Light -house,  for  which  we  are  steering.  Then  the 
intense  silence — broken  only  when  the  wind,  changing  a  little, 
jibes  the  sails  and  sends  the  great  boom  swinging  over  on  to 
the  lee  tackle.  It  is  so  still  that  we  are  startled  by  the  sudden 
noise  of  the  blowing  of  a  whale ;  and  it  sounds  quite  close  to  the 
yacht,  though  it  is  more  likely  that  the  animal  is  miles  away. 

"  She  is  a  wonderful  creature — she  is,  indeed,"  says  the  man  at 
the  wheel ;  as  if  every  one  must  necessarily  be  thinking  about 
the  same  person. 

"  Who  ?" 

"  Your  young  English  friend.  Every  minute  of  her  life  seems 
to  be  an  enjoyment  to  her;  she  sings  just  as  a  bird  sings — for 
her  own  amusement,  and  without  thinking." 

"  She  can  think  too  ;  she  is  not  a  fool." 

"  Though  she  docs  not  look  very  strong,"  continues  the  young 
doctor,  "  she  must  have  a  thoroughly  healthy  constitution,  or  how 
could  she  have  such  a  happy  disposition  ?     She  is  always  content- 


THROUGH    THE    DARK.  123 

ed ;  she  is  never  put  out.  If  you  had  only  seen  her  patience  and 
cheerfulness  when  she  was  attending  that  old  woman — many  a 
time  I  regretted  it — the  case  was  hopeless— a  hired  nurse  would 
have  done  as  w'cll." 

"  Hiring  a  nurse  might  not  have  satisfied  the  young  lady's  no- 
tions of  duty." 

"  Well,  I've  seen  women  in  sick-rooms,  but  never  any  one  like 
her,"  said  he  ;  and  then  he  added,  with  a  sort  of  emphatic  wonder, 
"  I'm  hanged  if  she  did  not  seem  to  enjoy  that  too  !  Then,  you 
never  saw  any  one  so  particular  about  following  out  instructions." 

It  is  here  suggested  to  our  steersman  that  he  himself  may  be 
a  little  too  particular  about  following  out  instructions.  For  John 
of  Skye's  last  counsel  was  to  keep  Ardnamurchan  light  on  our 
port  bow.  That  was  all  very  well  when  we  were  off  the  north 
of  Eigg;  but  is  Dr.  Sutherland  aware  that  the  south  point  of 
Eigg  —  Eilean-na- Castle  —  juts  pretty  far  out?  and  is  not  that 
black  line  of  land  coming  uncommonly  close  on  our  starboard 
bow  ?  With  some  reluctance  our  new  skipper  consents  to  alter 
his  course  by  a  couple  of  points,  and  we  bear  away  down  for 
Ardnamurchan. 

And  of  what  did  he  not  talk  during  the  long  starlit  night — 
the  person  who  ought  to  have  been  lookout  sitting  contentedly 
aft,  a  mute  listener? — of  the  strange  fears  that  must  have  beset 
the  people  who  first  adventured  out  to  sea ;  of  the  vast  expendi- 
ture of  human  life  that  must  have  been  thrown  away  in  the  dis- 
covery of  the  most  common  facts  about  currents  and  tides  and 
rocks ;  and  so  forth,  and  so  forth.  But  ever  and  again  his  talk 
i-eturned  to  Mary  Avon. 

"  What  does  the  Laird  mean  by  his  suspicions  about  her  un- 
cje?"  he  asked  on  one  occasion — just  as  w^e  had  been  watching 
a  blue-white  bolt  flash  down  through  the  serene  heavens  and  ex- 
pire in  mid-air. 

"  Mr.  Frederick  Smethurst  has  an  ugly  face." 

"But  what  does  he  mean  about  those  relations  between  the 
man  with  the  ugly  face  and  his  niece  ?" 

"  That  is  idle  speculation.  Frederick  Smethurst  was  her  trus- 
tee, and  might  have  done  her  some  mischief ;  that  is,  if  he  is  an 
out-and-out  scoundrel ;  but  that  is  all  over.  Mary  is  mistress  of 
her  own  property  now." 

Ilere  the  boom  came  slowly  swinging  over;   and  presently 


124  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting   romance. 

there  were  all  the  sheets  of  the  head-sails  to  be  looked  after — 
tedious  work  enough  for  amateurs  in  the  darkness  of  the  night. 

Then  further  silence  ;  and  the  monotonous  rush  and  murmur 
of  the  unseen  sea;  and  the  dark  top-mast  describing  circles  among 
the  stars.  We  get  up  one  of  the  glasses  to  make  astronomical 
observations,  but  the  heaving  of  the  boat  somewhat  interferes 
with  this  quest  after  knowledge.  Whoever  wants  to  have  a  good 
idea  of  forked  lightning  has  only  to  take  up  a  binocular  on  board 
a  pitching  yacht,  and  try  to  fix  it  on  a  particular  planet. 

The  calm,  solemn  night  passes  slowly  ;  the  red  and  green  lights 
shine  on  the  black  rigging;  afar  in  the  south  burns  the  guiding 
star  of  Ardnamurchan.  And  we  have  drawn  away  from  Eigg 
DOW,  and  passed  the  open  sound ;  and  there,  beyond  the  mur- 
muring sea,  is  the  gloom  of  the  island  of  Muick.  All  the  people 
below  are  wrapped  in  slumber;  the  cabins  are  dark;  there  is  only 
a  solitary  candle  burning  in  the  saloon.  It  is  a  strange  thing  to 
be  responsible  for  the  lives  of  those  sleeping  folk,  out  here  on 
the  lone  Atlantic,  in  the  stillness  of  the  night. 

Our  young  doctor  bears  his  responsibility  lightly.  He  has — 
for  a  wonder — laid  aside  his  pipe ;  and  he  is  humming  a  song 
that  he  has  heard  Mary  Avon  singing  of  late — something  about 

"Oh,  think  na  laiig,  lassie,  though  I  gang  awa', 
For  I'll  come  and  see  ye  in  spite  o'  them  a'," 

and  he  is  wishing  the  breeze  would  blow  a  bit  harder,  and  won- 
dering whether  the  wind  will  die  away  altogether  when  we  get 
under  the  lee  of  Ardnamurchan  Point. 

But  long  before  we  have  got  down  to  Ardnamurchan  there  is 
a  pale  gray  light  beginning  to  tell  in  the  oastern  skies ;  and  the 
stars  are  growing  fainter;  and  the  black  line  of  the  land  is  grow- 
ing clearer  above  the  wrestling  seas.  Is  it  a  fancy  that  the  first 
light  airs  of  the  morning  are  a  trifle  cold?  And  then  we  sud- 
denly see,  among  the  dark  rigging  forward,  one  or  two  black  fig- 
ures ;  and  presently  John  of  Skye  comes  aft,  rubbing  his  eyes. 
He  has  had  a  good  sleep  at  last. 

Go  below,  then,  you  stout -sinewed  young  doctor;  you  have 
had  your  desire  of  sailing  the  White  Dove  through  the  still 
watches  of  the  night.  And  soon  you  will  be  asleep,  with  your 
head  on  the  hard  pillow  of  that  little  state-room  ;  and  though 
the  pillow  is  not  as  hard  as  a  stone,  still  the  night  and  the  sea 


VILLANY     ABROAD.  125 

and  the  stars  are  quickening  to  the  brain ;  and  who  knows  that 
you  may  not  perchance,  after  all,  dream  of  "angels,  or  hear  some 
faint  singing  far  away  : 

"  There  was  Mary  Beaton — and  Mary  Seaton — '' 

Or  is  it  only  a  sound  of  the  waves  ? 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

VILLANY     ABROAD, 


It  is  near  mid-day ;  two  late  people  are  sitting  at  breakfast ; 
the  skylight  overhead  has  been  lifted,  and  the  cool  sea-air  fills 
the  saloon. 

"  Dead  calm  again,"  says  Angus  Sutherland,  for  he  can  see  the 
rose-red  ensign  hanging  limp  from  the  mizzen-mast,  a  blaze  of 
color  against  the  still  blue. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  White  Dove  is  quite  motionless,  and 
that  a  perfect  silence  reigns  around  her.  That  is  why  we  can 
hear  so  distinctly,  through  the  open  skylight,  the  gentle  foot- 
steps of  two  people  who  are  pacing  up  and  down  the  deck,  and 
the  soft  voice  of  one  of  them  as  she  speaks  to  her  friend.  Wliat 
is  all  this  wild  enthusiasm  about,  then  ? 

"  It  is  the  noblest  profession  in  the  Avorld !" — we  can  hear  so 
much  as  she  passes  the  skylight.  "  One  profession  lives  by  fo- 
menting quarrels,  and  another  studies  the  art  of  killing  in  every 
form ;  but  this  one  lives  only  to  heal — only  to  relieve  the  suffer- 
ing and  help  the  miserable.  That  is  the  profession  I  should  be- 
long to  if  I  were  a  man." 

Our  young  doctor  sa3's  nothing  as  the  voice  recedes ;  but  he 
is  obviously  listening  for  the  return  walk  along  the  deck.  And 
here  she  comes  again. 

"  The  patient  drudgery  of  such  a  life  is  quite  heroic ;  whether 
he  is  a  man  of  science,  working  day  and  night  to  find  out  things 
for  the  good  of  the  world,  nobody  thanking  him  or  caring  about 
him,  or  whether  he  is  a  physician  in  practice,  with  not  a  minute 
that  can  be  called  his  own — liable  to  be  summoned  at  any  hour — " 

The  voice  asain  becomes  inaudible.      It  is  remarked  to  this 


126  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

young  man  that  Mary  Avon  seems  to  have  a  pretty  high  opinion 
of  the  medical  profes'sion. 

"  She  herself,"  he  says,  hastily,  with  a  touch  of  color  in  his 
face,  "  has  the  patience  and  fortitude  of  a  dozen  doctors." 

Once  more  the  light  tread  on  deck  comes  near  the  skylight. 

"  If  I  were  the  government,"  says  Mary  Avon,  warmly,  "  I 
should  be  ashamed  to  see  so  rich  a  country  as  England  content 
to  take  her  knowledge  second-hand  from  the  German  universi- 
ties, while  such  men  as  Dr.  Sutherland  are  harassed  and  hampered 
in  their  proper  work  by  having  to  write  articles  and  do  ordinary 
doctor's  visiting.  I  should  be  ashamed.  If  it  is  a  want  of  mon- 
ey, why  don't  they  pack  off  a  dozen  or  two  of  the  young  noodles 
who  pass  the  day  whittling  quills  in  the  Foreign  Office  ?" 

Even  when  modified  by  the  distance,  and  by  the  soft  lapping 
of  the  water  outside,  this  seems  rather  strong  language  for  a 
young  lady.  Why  should  Miss  Avon  again  insist  in  such  a  warm 
fashion  on  the  necessity  of  endowing  research? 

But  Angus  Sutherland's  face  is  burning  red.  Listeners  are 
said  to  hear  ill  of  themselves. 

"  However,  Dr.  Sutherland  is  not  likely  to  complain,"  she  says, 
proudly,  as  she  comes  by  again.  "  No ;  he  is  too  proud  of  his 
profession.  He  does  his  work,  and  leaves  the  appreciation  of  it 
to  others.  And  when  everybody  knows  that  he  will  one  day  be 
among  the  most  famous  men  in  the  country,  is  it  not  monstrous 
that  he  should  be  harassed  by  drudgery  in  the  mean  time?  If  I 
were  the  government — " 

But  Angus  Sutherland  cannot  suffer  this  to  go  on.  He  leaves 
his  breakfast  unfinished,  passes  along  the  saloon,  and  ascends  the 
companion.  ' 

"  Good-morning !"  he  says. 

"  AVhy,  are  you  up  already  ?"  his  hostess  says.  "  We  have  been 
walking  as  lightly  as  we  could,  for  we  thought  you  were  both 
asleep.  And  Mary  has  been  heaping  maledictions  on  the  head 
of  the  government  because  it  doesn't  subsidize  all  you  microscope 
men.  The  next  thing  she  will  want  is  a  license  for  the  whole  of 
you  to  be  allowed  to  vivisect  criminals." 

"  I  heard  sometliing  of  what  Miss  Avon  said,"  he  admitted. 

The  girl,  looking  rather  aghast,  glanced  at  the  open  skylight. 

"  We  thought  you  were  asleep,"  she  stammered,  and  with  her 
face  somewhat  flushed. 


VILLAXY    ADROAD.  127 

"At  least  T  heard  you  say  something  about  the  government," 
he  said,  kindly.  "  Well,  all  I  ask  from  the  government  is  to  give 
mc  a  trip  like  this  every  summer." 

"  What,"  says  his  hostess,  "  with  a  barometer  that  won't  fall  .^" 

"  I  don't  mind." 

"And  seas  like  glass?" 

"  I  don't  mind." 

"  xVud  the  impossibility  of  getting  back  to  land  V 

"So  much  the  better,"  he  says,  defiantlv. 

"Why,"  she  reminds  him,  laughing,  "you  were  very  anxious 
about  getting  back  some  days  ago.  What  has  made  you  change 
your  wishes  T' 

He  hesitates  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  says, 

"  I  believe  a  sort  of  madness  of  idleness  has  got  possession 
of  me.  I  have  dallied  so  long  with  that  tempting  invitation  of 
yours  to  stay  and  see  the  White  Dove  through  the  equinoctials 
that — that  I  think  I  really  must  give  in." 

"  Yon  cannot  help  yourself,"  his  hostess  says,  promptly.  "  You 
have  already  promised.     Mary  is  my  witness." 

The  witness  seems  anxious  to  avoid  being  brought  into  this 
matter ;  she  turns  to  the  Laird  quickly,  and  asks  him  some  ques- 
tion about  Ru-na-Gaul  light  over  there. 

Ru-na-Gaul  light  no  doubt  it  is — shining  white  in  the  sun  at 
the  point  of  the  great  cliffs;  and  tliere  is  the  entrance  to  Tob- 
bcrniorry;  andliere  is  Mingary  Castle — brown  ruins  amidst  the 
brilliant  greens  of  those  sloping  shores — and  there  are  the  misty 
hills  over  Loch  Sunart.  For  the  rest,  blue  seas  around  us,  glassy 
and  still ;  and  blue  skies  overhead,  cloudless  and  pale.  The  ba- 
rometer refuses  to  budge. 

But  suddenly  there  is  a  brisk  excitement.  What  though  the 
breeze  that  is  darkening  the  water  tliere  is  coming  on  right 
ahead  ? — avc  shall  be  moving  anyway.  And  as  the  first  puffs  of 
it  catch  the  sails,  Angus  Sutherland  places  Mary  Avon  in  com- 
mand ;  and  she  is  now — by  the  permission  of  her  travelling  phy- 
sician— allowed  to  stand  as  she  guides  the  course  of  the  vessel. 
She  has  become  an  experienced  pilot:  the  occasional  glance  at  the 
leach  of  the  top-sail  is  all  that  is  needed ;  she  keeps  as  accurately 
"  full  and  by  "  as  the  master  of  one  of  the  famous  cup-takers.     , 

"  Now,  Mary,"  says  her  hostess,  "  it  all  depends  on  you  as  to 
whether  Auq-us  avIU  catch  the  steamer  this  cvenina;.'' 


128  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTIN'Cx    ROMAXCE, 

"  Oh,  does  it  ?"  she  says,  vvitli  apparent  innocence. 

"  Yes ;  we  shall  want  very  good  steering  to  get  within  sight  of 
Castle  Osprey  before  the  evening." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  says  this  audacious  person. 

At  the  same  instant  she  deliberately  puts  the  helm  down.  Of 
course  the  yacht  directly  runs  up  to  the  Avind,  her  sails  flap- 
ping helplessly.  Everybody  looks  surprised ;  and  John  of  Skye, 
thinking  that  the  new  skipper  has  only  been  a  bit  careless,  calls 
out : 

"  Keep  her  full,  mem,  if  you  please." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Mary  ?  AVhat  are  you  about  V  cries 
Queen  T . 

"  I  am  not  going  to  be  responsible  for  sending  Dr.  Sutherland 
away,"  she  says,  in  a  matter-of-fact  manner,  "  since  he  says  he  is 
in  no  hurry  to  go.  If  you  wish  to  drive  your  guest  away,  I  won't 
be  a  party  to  it.     I  mean  to  steer  as  badly  as  I  can." 

"  Then  I  depose  you,"  says  Dr.  Sutherland,  promptly.  "  I  can- 
not have  a  pilot  who  disobeys  orders." 

*'  Very  well,"  she  says,  "  you  may  take  the  tiller  yourself ;"  and 
she  goes  away,  and  sits  down,  in  high  dudgeon,  by  the  Laird. 

So  once  more  we  get  the  vessel  under  way  ;  and  the  breeze  is 
beginning  to  blow  somewhat  more  briskly  ;  and  we  notice  with 
liopefulness  that  there  is  rougher  water  farther  down  the  Sound. 
But,  with  this  slow  process  of  beating,  how  are  we  to  get  within 
sight  of  Castle  Osprey  before  the  great  steamer  comes  up  from 
the  South  ? 

The  Laird  is  puzzling  over  the  Admiralty  Sailing  Directions. 
The  young  lady,  deeply  olf ended,  who  sits  beside  him,  pays  hiiu 
great  attention,  and  talks  "at"  the  rest  of  the  passengers  with 
undisguised  contem[)t. 

"It  is  all  lia])-hazard,  the  sailing  of  a  yacht,"  she  says  to  liiin, 
though  we  can  all  hear.  "Anybody  can  do  it.  lint  they  make 
a  jargon  about  it  to  puzzle  other  people,  and  pretend  it  is  a  sci- 
ence, and  all  tliat." 

"  AVell,"  says  the  Laird,  who  is  quite  unaware  of  the  fury  that 
fills  lier  brain,  "  there  are  some  of  the  ])hrases  in  this  book  that 
are  verra  extraordinary.  In  navigating  this  same  Sound  of  Mull, 
tliey  say  you  are  to  keep  the  'weather-shore  aboard.'  IIow  can 
ye  keep  the  weather-shore  aboard  ?" 

"  Indeed,  if  we  don't  get  into  a  port  soon,"  remarks  unr  host- 


VILLANY    ABKOAD.  129 

ess  and  chief  commissariat  officer,  "  it  will  be  tlie  only  thing  we 
shall  have  on  board.     How  would  you  like  it  cooked,  Mary  ?" 

"  I  won't  speak  to  any  of  you,"  says  the  disgraced  skipper, 
with  much  composure. 

"  Will  you  sing  to  us,  then  ?" 

"  Will  you  behave  properly  if  you  are  reinstated  in  command  ?" 
asks  Angus  Sutherland. 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  she  says,  quite  humbly  ;  and  forthwith  she  is  al- 
lowed to  have  the  tiller  again. 

Brisker  and  brisker  grows  the  breeze ;  it  is  veering  to  the 
south,  too ;  the  sea  is  rising,  and  with  it  the  spirits  of  everybody 
on  board.  The  ordinarily  sedate  and  respectable  White  Dove  is 
showing  herself  a  trifle  frisky,  moreover ;  an  occasional  clatter 
below  of  hair-brushes  or  candlesticks  tells  us  that  people  accus- 
tomed to  calms  fall  into  the  habit  of  leaving  their  cabins  ill  ar- 
ranged. 

"There  will  be  more  wind,  sir,"  says  John  of  Skye,  coming  aft ; 
and  he  is  looking  at  some  long  and  streaky  "  mare's-tails  "  in  the 
south-western  sky.  "And  if  there  wass  a  gale  o'  wind,  I  would 
let  her  have  it." 

Why  that  grim  ferocity  of  look,  Captain  John  ?  Is  the  poor 
old  White  Dove  responsible  for  the  too  fine  weather,  that  you 
would  like  to  see  her  driven,  all  wet  and  bedraggled,  before  a 
south-westerly  gale?  If  you  must  quarrel  with  something,  quar- 
rel with  the  barometer :  you  may  admonish  it  with  a  belaying- 
pin,  if  you  please. 

Brisker  and  brisker  grows  the  breeze.  Now  we  hear  the  first 
pistol-shots  of  the  spray  come  rattling  over  the  bows ;  and  Hec- 
tor of  Moidart  has  from  time  to  time  to  duck  his  head,  or  shake 
the  water  from  his  jersey.  The  White  Dove  breasts  these  rush- 
ing waves,  and  a  foam  of  white  water  goes  hissing  away  from  ei- 
ther side  of  her.  Speine  Mor  and  Speine  Beg  Ave  leave  behind ; 
in  the  distance  we  can  descry  the  ruins  of  Aros  Castle  and  the 
deep  indentation  of  Salen  Bay ;  here  we  are  passing  the  thick 
woods  of  Funeray.  '''' Farewell,  farewell,  to  Funeray  T  The 
squally  look  in  the  south-west  increases ;  the  wind  veers  more 
and  more.  Commander  Mary  Avon  is  glad  to  resign  the  helm, 
for  it  is  not  easy  to  retain  hold  in  these  plunging  seas. 

"  Why,  you  will  catch  the  steamer,  after  all,  Angus,"  says  his 
hostess,  as  we  go  tearing  by  the  mouth  of  Loche  Aline. 


130  WHITE    WIXGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

"  This  is  a  good  one  for  the  last,"  he  calls  to  her.  "  Give  lier 
some  more  sheet,  John  ;  the  wind  is  going  round  to  the  north." 

Whence  comes  the  whirling  storm  in  the  midst  of  the  calm 
summer  weather?  The  blue  heavens  are  as  blue  as  the  petal  of 
a  crane's-bill :  surely  such  a  sky  has  nothing  to  do  with  a  hurri- 
cane. But  wherever  it  comes  from,  it  is  welcome  enough ;  and 
the  brave  White  Dove  goes  driving  through  those  heavy  seas, 
sometimes  cresting  them  buoyantly,  at  other  times  meeting  them 
with  a  dull  shock,  followed  by  a  swish  of  water  that  rushes  along 
the  lee  scuppers.  And  those  two  women-folk,  without  ulsters  or 
other  covering :  it  is  a  merry  game  to  play  jack-in-the-box,  and 
duck  their  heads  under  the  shelter  of  the  gig  when  the  spray 
springs  into  the  air.  But  somehow  the  sea  gets  the  best  of  it. 
Laugh  as  they  may,  they  must  be  feeling  rather  damp  about  their 
hair;  and  as  for  Mary  Avon's  face,  that  has  got  a  bath  of  salt- 
water at  least  a  dozen  times.  She  cares  not.  Sun,  wind,  and  sea 
she  allows  to  do  their  worst  with  her  complexion.  Soon  we  shall 
have  to  call  her  the  nut-brown  maid. 

Brisker  and  brisker  grows  the  breeze.  Angus  Sutherland,  with 
a  rope  round  the  tiller,  has  his  teeth  set  hard :  he  is,  indeed,  let- 
ting the  White  Dove  have  it  at  last,  for  he  absolutely  refuses  to 
have  the  top-sail  down.  The  main  tack,  then — might  not  that 
be  hauled  up  ?  No ;  he  will  have  none  of  John  of  Skye's  coun- 
sels. The  White  Dove  tears  her  way  through  the  Avater  —  we 
raise  a  cloud  of  birds  from  the  rocks  opposite  Scallasdale — we 
see  the  white  surf  breaking  in  at  Craignure — ahead  of  us  is  Lis- 
more  Light-house,  perched  over  the  whirling  and  struggling  tides, 
shining  white  in  the  sunlight  above  the  dark  and  driven  sea — 

"Ahead  she  goes;  the  land  she  knows!" 

— past  the  shadowy  ruins  of  Duart,  and  out  and  through  the  tur- 
bulent tides  off  the  light-house  rocks.  The  golden  afternoon  is 
not  yet  far  advanced:  let  but  this  brave  breeze  continue,  and 
soon  they  will  descry  the  White  Dove  from  the  far  heights  of 
Castle  Osprey. 

But  there  was  to  be  no  Castle  Osprey  for  Angus  Sutherland 
that  evening,  despite  the  splendid  run  the  White  Dove  had  made. 
It  was  a  race,  indeed,  between  the  yacht  and  the  steamer  for  the 
quay  ;  and  notwithstanding  that  Mary  Avon  was  counselling  ev- 
erybody to  give  it  up  as  imj^ossiblc,  John  of  Skyc  would  hold  to 


VILLANY    ABROAD.  131 

it,  in  the  hope  of  pleasing  Dr.  Sutherland  himself.  And  no  soon- 
er was  the  anchor  let  go  in  the  bay  than  the  gig  was  down  from 
the  davits,  the  men  had  jumped  in,  the  solitary  portmanteau  was 
tossed  into  the  stern,  and  Angus  Sutherland  was  hurriedly  bid- 
ding his  adieus.  The  steamer  was  at  this  instant  slowing  into 
the  quay. 

"  I  forbid  any  one  to  say  good-bye  to  him,"  says  our  admiral- 
in-chief,  sternly.  ^^Au  revoir  —  auf  wiedersehen — anything  you 
like — no  good-bye." 

Last  of  all  he  took  Mary  Avon's  hand. 

"  You  have  promised,  you  know,"  she  said,  with  her  eyes  cast 
down. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  regarding  her  for  an  instant  with  a  strange 
look — earnest,  perhaps,  and  yet  timid — as  if  it  would  ask  a  ques- 
tion, and  dared  not;  "I  will  keep  my  promise."  Then  he  jump- 
ed into  the  boat. 

That  was  a  hard  pull  away  to  the  quay ;  and  even  in  the  bay 
the  water  was  rough,  so  that  the  back-sweep  of  the  oars  some- 
times caught  the  waves  and  sent  the  spray  flying  in  the  wind. 
The  Chevalier  had  rang  her  bells.  We  made  sure  he  would  be 
too  late.  What  was  the  reason  of  this  good-natured  indulgence  ?* 
We  lost  sight  of  the  gig  in  at  the  landing-slip. 

Then  the  great  steamer  slowly  steamed  away  from  the  quay. 
Who  was  that  on  the  paddle-box  waving  good-bye  to  us  ? 

"  Oh  yes,  I  can  see  him  plainly,"  calls  out  Queen  T ,  look- 
ing through  a  glass ;  and  there  is  a  general  waving  of  handker- 
chiefs in  reply  to  the  still  visible  signal.  Mary  Avon  waves  her 
handkerchief  too — in  a  limp  fashion.  We  do  not  look  at  her 
eyes. 

And  when  the  gig  came  back,  and  we  bade  good-bye  for  the 
time  to  the  brave  old  White  Dove,  and  set  out  for  Castle  Osprey, 
she  was  rather  sUent.  In  vain  did  the  Laird  tell  her  some  of  the 
very  best  ones  about  Homesh ;  she  seemed  anxious  to  get  into 
the  house,  and  to  reach  the  solitude  of  her  own  room. 

But  in  the  mean  time  there  was  a  notable  bundle  of  letters, 
newspapers,  and  what-not  lying  on  the  hall  table.     This  was  the 


*  Thank  you  very  much,  Mr.  L ,  for  calling  the  attention  of  the  cap- 
tain to  the  approaching  boat.  It  was  one  of  many  good  deeds  that  we  are 
grateful  for. 


132  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 

first  welcome  that  civilization  gave  us.  And  although  we  de- 
fied these  claims,  and  determined  that  not  an  envelope  should  be 
opened  till  after  dinner,  Mary  Avon,  having  only  one  letter  await- 
ing her,  was  allowed  to  read  that.  She  did  it  mechanically,  list- 
lessly— she  Avas  not  in  very  good  spirits.  But  suddenly  we  heard 
her  utter  some  slight  exclamation ;  and  then  we  turned  and  saw 
that  there  was  a  strange  look  on  her  face — of  dismay  and  dread. 
She  was  pale,  too,  and  bewildered — like  one  stunned.  Then  with- 
out a  word  she  handed  the  letter  to  her  friend. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Mary  ?" 

But  she  read  the  letter ;  and,  in  her  amazement,  she  repeated 
the  reading  of  it  aloud.  It  was  a  brief,  business-like,  and  yet 
friendly  letter,  from  the  manager  of  a  certain  bank  in  London. 
He  said  he  was  sorry  to  refer  to  painful  matters ;  but  no  doubt 
Miss  Avon  had  seen  in  the  papers  some  mention  of  the  abscond- 
ing of  Mr.  Frederick  Smethurst,  of .     He  hoped  there 

was  nothing  wrong ;  but  he  thought  it  right  to  inform  Miss  Avon 
that,  a  day  or  two  before  this  disappearance,  Mr.  Smethurst  had 
called  at  the  bank  and  received,  in  obedience  to  her  written  in- 
structions, the  securities — U.  S.  Five-Twenties — which  the  bank 
held  in  her  name.  Mr.  Smethurst  had  explained  that  these  bonds 
were  deliverable  to  a  certain  broker,  and  that  securities  of  a  like 
value  would  be  deposited  with  the  bank  in  a  day  or  two  afterward. 
Since  then  nothing  had  been  heard  of  him  till  the  Hue  and  Cry 
appeared  in  the  newspapers.    Such  was  the  substance  of  the  letter. 

"  But  it  isn't  true  !"  said  Mary  Avon,  almost  wildly.  "  I  can- 
not believe  it !  I  will  not  believe  it !  I  saw  no  announcement  in 
the  papers.  And  I  did  give  him  the  letter ;  he  was  acting  quite 
rightly.     What  do  they  want  me  to  believe  ?" 

"  Oh,  Mary  !"  cries  her  friend,  "  why  did  you  not  tell  us  ?  Have 
you  parted  with  everything?" 

"The  money?"  says  the  girl,  with  her  white  face  and  fright- 
ened, pathetic  eyes.  "  Oh,  I  do  not  care  about  the  money.  It 
has  got  nothing  to  do  with  the  money.  But — but — he — was  my 
mother's  only  brother." 

The  lips  tremble  for  a  moment;  but  she  collects  herself.  Her 
courage  tights  through  the  stun  of  this  sudden  blow. 

"I  will  not  believe  it!"  she  says.  "How  dare  they  say  such 
things  of  him  ?  How  is  it  we  have  never  seen  anything  of  it  in 
the  papers  ?" 


AN    ULTIMATION.  133 

But  the  Laird  leaves  these  and  other  wild  questions  to  be  an- 
swered at  leisure.  In  the  mean  time  his  eyes  are  burning  like 
coals  of  fire;  and  he  is  twisting  his  hands  together  in  a  vain  en- 
deavor to  repress  his  anger  and  indignation. 

"  Tell  them  to  put  a  horse  to,"  he  says,  in  a  voice  the  abrupt- 
ness of  which  startles  every  one.  "  I  want  to  drive  to  the  tele- 
graph office.     This  is  a  thing  for  men  to  deal  wi' — not  weemen." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

AN    ULTIMATION. 

When  our  good  friend  the  Laird  of  Denny-mains  came  back 
from  the  post-office  he  seemed  quite  beside  himself  with  wrath. 
And  yet  his  rage  was  not  of  the  furious  and  loquacious  sort ;  it 
was  reticent,  and  deep,  and  dangerous.  He  kept  pacing  up  and 
down  the  gravel-path  in  front  of  the  house,  while  as  yet  dinner 
was  not  ready.  Occasionally  he  would  rub  his  hands  vehement- 
ly, as  if  to  get  rid  of  some  sort  of  electricity ;  and  once  or  twice 
we  heard  him  ejaculate  to  himself  :  "  The  scoondrel ! — the  scoon- 
drel !"  It  was  in  vain  that  our  gentle  Queen  Titania,  always  anx- 
ious to  think  the  best  of  everybody,  broke  in  on  these  fierce  med- 
itations, and  asked  the  Laird  to  suspend  his  judgment.  How 
could  he  be  sure,  she  asked,  that  Frederick  Smethurst  had  really 
run  away  with  his  niece's  little  property  ?  He  had  come  to  her 
and  represented  that  he  was  in  serious  difficulties ;  that  this  tem- 
porary loan  of  six  or  seven  thousand  pounds  would  save  him  ; 
that  he  would  repay  her  directly  certain  remittances  came  to  him 
from  abroad.  How  could  he,  the  Laird,  know  that  Frederick 
Smethurst  did  not  mean  to  keep  his  promise  ? 

But  Denny-mains  would  have  none  of  these  possibilities.  He 
saw  the  whole  story  clearly.  He  had  telegraphed  for  confirma- 
tion ;  but  already  he  was  convinced.  As  for  Frederick  Smethurst 
being  a  swindler,  that  did  not  concern  him,  he  said.  As  for  the 
creditors,  that  was  their  own  lookout :  men  in  business  had  to 
take  their  chance.  But  that  this  miscreant,  this  ruffian,  this  mean 
hound,  should  have  robbed  his  own  niece  of  her  last  farthing,  and 
left  her  absolutely  without  resources  or  protection  of  any  kind 
in  the  world — this  it  was  that  made  the  Laird's  eyes  burn  with 


134  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romancje. 

a  dark  fire.  "  The  scoondrel ! — the  scoondrel !"  he  said ;  and  he 
rubbed  his  hands  as  though  he  would  wrench  the  fingers  oflE. 

"We  should  have  been  more  surprised  at  this  exhibition  of  rage 
on  the  part  of  a  person  so  ordinarily  placid  as  Denny-mains,  but 
that  every  one  had  observed  how  strong  had  become  his  affection 
for  Mary  Avon  during  our  long  days  on  the  Atlantic.  If  she 
had  been  twenty  times  his  own  daughter,  he  could  not  have  re- 
garded her  with  a  greater  tenderness.  He  had  become  at  once 
her  champion  and  her  slave.  When  there  was  any  playful  quar- 
rel between  the  young  lady  and  her  hostess,  he  took  the  side  of 
Mary  Avon  with  a  seriousness  that  soon  disposed  of  the  contest. 
He  studied  her  convenience  to  the  smallest  particular  when  she 
wished  to  paint  on  deck ;  and  so  far  from  hinting  that  he  would 
like  to  have  Tom  Galbraith  revise  and  improve  her  work,  he  now 
said  that  he  would  have  pride  in  showing  her  productions  to  that 
famous  artist.  And  perhaps  it  was  not  quite  so  much  the  actual 
fact  of  the  stealing  of  the  money,  as  the  manner  and  circumstance 
of  it,  that  now  wholly  upset  his  equilibrium  and  drove  him  into 
this  passion  of  rage.  "  The  scoondrel ! — the  scoondrel !"  he  mut- 
tered to  himself,  in  these  angry  pacings  to  and  fro. 

Then  he  surprised  his  hostess  by  suddenly  stopping  short,  and 
uttering  some  brief  chuckle  of  laughter, 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,"  said  he,  "  for  the  leeberty  I  have 
taken ;  but  I  was  at  the  telegraph  oflSce  in  any  case ;  and  I 
thought  ye  would  not  mind  my  sending  for  my  nephew  Howard. 
Ye  were  so  good  as  to  say — " 

"  Oh,  we  shall  be  most  pleased  to  see  him,"  said  she,  promptly. 
"I  am  sure  he  must  have  heard  us  talking  about  the  yacht;  he 
will  not  mind  a  little  discomfort — " 

"  He  will  have  to  take  what  is  given  him,  and  be  thankful," 
said  the  Laird,  sharply.  "  In  my  opeenion  the  young  people  of 
the  present  day  are  too  much  given  to  picking  and  choosing. 
They  will  not  begin  as  their  parents  began.  Only  the  best  of 
everything  is  good  enough  for  them." 

But  here  the  Laird  checked  himself. 

"No,  no,  ma'am,"  said  he.  "  My  nephew  Howard  is  not  like 
that.  He  is  a  good  lad — a  sensible  lad.  And  as  for  his  comfort 
on  board  that  yacht,  I'm  thinking  it's  not  that,  but  the  opposite, 
he  has  to  fear  most.     Ye  are  spoiling  us  all,  the  crew  included." 

"  Now  wo  must  go  in  to  dinner,"  is  the  practical  answer. 


AN    ULTIMATION.  135 

"  Has  she  come  down  ?"  asks  the  Laird,  in  a  whisper, 

"  I  suppose  so." 

In  the  drawing-room  we  found  Mary  Avon.  She  was  rather 
pale  and  silent — that  was  all ;  and  she  seemed  to  wish  to  avoid 
observation.  But  when  dinner  was  announced  the  Laird  went 
over  to  her  and  took  her  hand,  and  led  her  into  the  dining-room 
just  as  he  might  have  led  a  child.  And  he  arranged  her  chair 
for  her,  and  patted  her  on  the  back  as  he  passed  on,  and  said, 
cheerfully, 

"  Quite  right — quite  right ;  don't  believe  all  the  stories  ye  hear. 
Nil  desperandum — we're  not  beaten  down  yet !" 

She  sat  cold  and  white,  with  her  eyes  cast  down.  He  did  not 
know  that  in  the  interval  her  hostess  had  been  forced  to  show  the 
girl  that  paragraph  of  the  Hue  and  Cry. 

''''Nil  des2)erandum  —  that's  it,"  continued  the  good -hearted 
Laird,  in  his  blithest  manner.  "  Keep  your  own  conscience  clear, 
and  let  other  people  do  as  they  please — that  is  the  philosophy 
of  life.  That  is  what  Dr.  Sutherland  would  say  to  ye  if  he  was 
here." 

This  chance  reference  to  Angus  Sutherland  was  surely  made 
with  the  best  intentions,  but  it  produced  a  strange  effect  on  the 
girl.  For  an  instant  or  two  she  tried  to  maintain  her  composure, 
though  her  lips  trembled;  then  she  gave  way,  and  bent  her  head, 
and  burst  out  crying,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  Of 
course  her  kind  friend  and  hostess  was  with  her  in  a  moment, 
and  soothed  her  and  caressed  her,  and  got  her  to  dry  her  eyes. 
Then  the  Laird  said,  after  a  second  or  two  of  inward  struggle, 

"  Oh,  do  you  know  that  there  is  a  steamer  run  on  the  rocks  at 
the  mouth  of  Loch  Etive  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  his  hostess,  who  had  resumed  her  seat,  said,  cheer- 
fully. "  That  is  a  good  joke.  They  say  the  captain  wanted  to 
be  very  clever,  and  would  not  have  a  pilot,  though  he  knows 
nothing  about  the  coast ;  so  he  thought  he  would  keep  mid- 
channel  in  going  into  the  loch." 

The  Laird  looked  puzzled :  where  was  the  joke  ? 

"  Oh,"  said  she,  noticing  his  bewilderment,  "  don't  you  know 
that  at  the  mouth  of  Loch  Etive  the  rocks  are  right  in  the  mid- 
dle, and  the  channel  on  each  side  ?  He  chose  precisely  the  straight 
line  for  bringing  his  vessel  full  tilt  on  the  rocks." 

So  this  was  the  joke,  then  :  that  a  valuable  ship  should  be  sunk  ! 

7 


136  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

But  it  soon  became  apparent  that  any  topic  was  of  profound  in- 
terest— was  exceedingly  facetious,  even — that  could  distract  Mary 
Avon's  attention.  They  would  not  let  her  brood  over  this  thing. 
They  would  have  found  a  joke  in  a  cofBn.  And,  indeed,  amidst 
all  this  talking  and  laughing,  Mary  Avon  brightened  up  consider- 
ably, and  took  her  part  bravely,  and  seemed  to  have  forgotten  all 
about  her  uncle  and  his  evil  deeds.  You  could  only  have  guessed 
from  a  certain  preoccupation  that  from  time  to  time  these  words 
must  have  been  appearing  before  her  mind,  their  commonplace 
and  matter-of-fact  phraseology  in  no  way  detracting  from  their 
horrible  import:  ''''Police-officers  and  others  are  requested  to  make 
immediate  search  and  inquiry  for  the  above-named  ;  and  those  sta- 
tioned at  sea-port  toivns  are  particularly  requested  to  search  out- 
ward-hound vessels.''''  The  description  of  Mr.  Frederick  Smethurst 
that  preceded  this  injunction  was  not  very  flattering. 

But  among  all  the  subjects,  grave  and  gay,  on  which  the  Laird 
touched  during  this  repast,  there  was  none  he  was  so  serious  and 
pertinacious  about  as  the  duty  owed  by  young  people  to  their 
parents  and  guardians.  It  did  not  seem  an  opportune  topic. 
He  might,  for  example,  have  enlarged  upon  the  duties  of  guardi- 
ans toward  their  helpless  and  unprotected  wards.  However,  on 
this  matter  he  was  most  decided.  He  even  cross-examined  his 
hostess,  with  an  unusual  sternness,  on  the  point.  What  was  the 
limit — was  there  any  limit — she  would  impose  on  the  duty  which 
young  folks  owed  to  those  Avho  were  their  parents,  or  who  stood 
to  them  in  the  relation  of  parents  ?  Our  sovereign  mistress,  a  lit- 
tle bit  frightened,  said  she  had  always  found  her  boys  obedient 
enough.  But  this  would  not  do.  Considering  the  care  and  af- 
fection bestowed  on  them,  considering  the  hardly  earned  wealth 
spent  on  them,  considering  the  easy  fortune  offered  to  them,  was 
it  not  boundcn  on  young  people  to  consult  and  obey  the  wishes 
of  those  who  had  done  so  much  for  them  ?  She  admitted  that 
such  was  the  case.  Pressed  to  say  where  the  limit  of  such  duty 
should  lie,  she  said  there  was  hardly  any.  So  far  good  ;  and  the 
Laird  was  satisfied. 

It  was  not  until  two  days  afterward  that  we  obtained  full  infor- 
mation by  letter  of  what  was  known  regarding  the  proceedings 
of  Frederick  Smethurst,  who,  it  appears,  before  he  bolted,  had  laid 
hands  on  every  farthing  of  money  he  could  touch,  and  borrowed 
from  the  credulous  among  his  friends ;  so  that  there  remained  no 


AK    ULTIMATION.  137 

reasonable  doubt  that  the  story  he  had  told  his  niece  was  among 
his  other  deceptions,  and  that  she  was  left  penniless.  No  one 
was  surprised.  It  had  been  almost  a  foregone  conclusion.  Mary- 
Avon  seemed  to  care  little  about  it ;  the  loss  of  her  fortune  was 
less  to  her  than  the  shame  and  dishonor  that  this  scoundrel  had 
brought  on  her  mother's  name. 

But  this  further  news  only  served  to  stir  up  once  more  the 
Laird's  slun^bering  wrath.     He  kept  looking  at  his  watch. 

"She'll  be  off  Easdale  now,"  said  he  to  himself;  and  we  knew 
he  was  speaking  of  the  steamer  that  was  bringing  his  nephew 
from  the  South. 

By-and-by,  "  She'll  be  near  Kerrara  now,"  he  said,  aloud.  "  Is 
it  not  time  to  drive  to  the  quay  ?" 

It  was  not  time,  but  we  set  out.  There  was  the  usual  crowd 
on  the  quay  when  we  got  there ;  and  far  off  we  could  descry  the 
red  funnels  and  the  smoke  of  the  steamer.  Mary  Avon  had  not 
come  with  us. 

"What  a  beautiful  day  your  nephew  must  have  had  for  his 
sail  from  the  Crinan  !"  said  the  Laird's  gentle  hostess  to  him. 

Did  he  not  hear  her  ?  or  was  he  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts  ? 
His  answer,  at  all  events,  was  a  strange  one. 

"  It  is  the  first  time  I  have  asked  anything  of  him,"  he  said,  al- 
most gloomily.  "  I  have  a  right  to  expect  him  to  do  something 
for  me  now." 

The  steamer  slows  in ;  the  ropes  are  thrown  across ;  the  gang- 
ways run  up ;  and  the  crowd  begins  to  pour  out.  And  here  is  a 
tall  and  handsome  young  fellow  who  comes  along  with  a  pleas- 
ant smile  of  greeting  on  his  face. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Smith  ?"  says  Queen  T ,  very  gra- 
ciously ;  but  she  does  not  call  him  "  Howard,"  as  she  calls  Dr. 
Sutherland  "  Angus." 

"  Well,  uncle,"  says  he,  brightly,  when  he  has  shaken  hands  all 
round,  "  what  is  the  meaning  of  it  all  ?  Are  you  starting  for  Ice- 
land in  a  hurry  ?  I  have  brought  a  rifle  as  well  as  my  breech- 
loader.    But  perhaps  I  had  better  wait  to  be  invited  ?" 

This  young  man,  with  the  clear,  pale  complexion,  and  the  dark 
hair,  and  dark  gray  eyes,  had  good  looks  and  a  pleasant  smile  in 
his  favor ;  he  was  accustomed  to  be  made  welcome ;  he  was  at 
ease  with  himself.  He  was  not  embarrassed  that  his  uncle  did 
not  immediately  answer ;  he  merely  turned  and  called  out  to  the 


138  WHITE  wings:   a  yachting  romance. 

man  who  had  got  liis  luggage.  And  when  we  had  got  him  into 
the  wagonette,  and  were  driving  off,  what  must  he  needs  talk  about 
but  the  absconding  of  Mr.  Frederick  Smetliurst,  whom  lie  knew  to 
be  the  uncle  of  a  young  lady  he  had  once  met  at  our  house. 

"  Catch  him  ?"  said  he,  with  a  laugh.  "  They'll  never  catch 
him." 

His  uncle  said  nothing  at  all. 

When  we  reached  Castle  Osprey,  the  Laird  said,  in  the  hall, 
when  he  had  satisfied  himself  that  there  was  no  one  within  hear- 
ing, 

"  Howard,  I  wisli  to  have  a  few  raeenutes'  talk  with  ye :  and 
perhaps  our  good  friends  here  will  come  into  the  room  too — " 

We  followed  him  into  the  dining-room,  and  shut  the  door. 

"  — just  to  see  whether  there  is  anything  unreasonable  in  what 
I  have  got  to  say  to  ye." 

The  young  man  looked  rather  alarmed ;  there  was  an  unusual 
coldness  and  austerity  in  the  elder  man's  voice. 

"  We  may  as  well  sit  down,"  he  said ;  "  it  wants  a  little  ex- 
planation." 

We  sat  down  in  silence,  Howard  Smith  looking  more  con- 
cerned than  ever.  He  had  a  real  affection,  as  we  knew,  for  this 
pseudo-uncle  of  his,  and  was  astounded  that  he  should  be  spoken 
to  in  this  formal  and  cold  manner. 

The  Laird  put  one  or  two  letters  on  the  table  before  him. 

"  I  have  asked  our  friends  here,"  said  he,  in  a  calm  and  meas- 
ured voice,  "  to  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say,  and  they  will  judge 
whether  it  is  unreasonable.  I  have  a  service  to  ask  of  ye.  I 
will  say  nothing  of  the  relations  between  you  and  me  before  this 
time ;  but  I  may  tell  ye  frankly — what  doubtless  ye  have  under- 
stood— that  I  had  intended  to  leave  ye  Denny-mains  at  my  death. 
I  have  neither  kitli  nor  kin  of  my  own  blood  ;  and  it  was  my  in- 
tention that  ye  should  have  Denny-mains — perhaps  even  before  I 
was  called  away." 

The  young  man  said  nothing;  but  the  manner  in  which  the 
Laird  spoke  of  his  intentions  in  the  past  sense  might  have  made 
the  most  disinterested  of  heirs  look  frightened.  After  all,  he  had 
certainly  been  brought  up  on  the  understanding  that  he  was  to 
succeed  to  the  property. 

"  Now,"  caid  he,  slowly,  "  I  may  say  I  have  shown  ye  some 
kindness — " 


AN    ULTIMATIOX.  139 

"  Indeed  you  have,  sir !"  said  the  other,  warmly. 

"  — and  I  have  asked  nothing  from  ye  in  return.  I  would  ask 
nothing  now  if  I  was  your  age.  If  I  was  twenty  years  younger, 
I  would  not  have  telegraphed  for  ye — indeed  no ;  I  would  have 
taken  the  matter  into  my  own  hands — " 

Here  the  Laird  paused  for  a  second  or  so,  to  regain  that  cold- 
ness of  demeanor  with  which  he  had  started. 

"Ay,  just  so.  Well,  ye  were  talking  about  the  man  Smethurst 
as  we  were  coming  along.  His  niece,  as  ye  may  be  aware,  is  in 
this  house — a  better  lass  was  never  seen  within  any  house." 

The  Laird  hesitated  more  and  more  as  he  came  to  the  climax 
of  his  discourse :  it  was  obviously  difficult  for  him  to  put  this 
restraint  on  himself. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  speaking  a  little  more  hurriedly,  "and  that 
scoondrel — that  scoondrel — has  made  oflE  with  every  penny  that 
the  poor  lass  had — every  penny  of  it — and  she  is  left  an  orphan 
— without  a  farthing  to  maintain  herself  wi' — and  that  infernal 
scoondrel — " 

The  Laird  jumped  fi'om  his  seat ;  his  anger  was  too  much  for 
him. 

"I  mean  to  stand  by  her,"  said  he,  pacing  up  and  down  the 
room,  and  speaking  in  short  ejaculations.  "  She  will  not  be  left 
without  a  farthing.  I  will  reach  liim,  too,  if  I  can.  Ay,  ay,  if  I 
was  but  twenty  years  younger,  and  had  that  man  before  me  !" 

He  stopped  short  opposite  his  nephew,  and  controlled  himself 
so  as  to  speak  quite  calmly. 

"  I  would  like  to  see  ye  settled  at  Denny-mains,  Howard,"  said 
he.  "And  ye  would  want  a  wife.  Now  if  ye  were  to  marry  this 
young  leddy,  it  would  be  the  delight  of  my  old  age  to  see  ye 
both  comfortable  and  well  provided  for.  And  a  better  wife  ye 
would  not  get  within  this  country.     Not  a  better !" 

Howard  Smith  stared. 

"  Why,  uncle !"  said  he,  as  if  he  thought  some  joke  was  going 
forward.  We,  who  had  been  aware  of  certain  profound  plans  on 
the  part  of  Denny-mains,  were  less  startled  by  this  abrupt  disclos- 
ure of  them. 

"  That  is  one  of  two  things,"  said  the  Laird,  with  forced  com- 
posure, "  that  I  wished  to  put  before  ye.  If  it  is  impossible,  I 
am  sorely  vexed.  But  there  is  another;  and  one  or  the  other,  as 
I  have  been  thinking,  I  am  fairly  entitled  to  ask  of  ye.     So  far 


140  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

I  have  not  thought  of  any  return  for  what  I  have  done ;  it  has 
been  a  pleasure  to  me  to  look  after  your  up-bringing." 

"  "Well,  uncle,"  said  the  young  man,  beginning  to  look  a  little 
less  frightened.  "  I  would  rather  hear  of  the  other  thing.  You 
know — eh — that  is — a  girl  does  not  take  anybody  who  is  flung 
at  her,  as  it  were ;  it  would  be  an  insult — and — and  people's  in- 
clinations and  affections — " 

"  I  know — I  know — I  know,"  said  the  Laird,  impatiently.  "  I 
have  gone  over  all  that.  Do  ye  think  I  am  a  fool  ?  If  the  lass 
will  not  have  ye,  there  is  an  end  to  it :  do  your  best  to  get  her, 
and  that  is  enough  for  me." 

"  There  was  another  thing,"  the  young  man  suggested,  timidly. 

"  Yes,  there  is,"  said  the  Laird,  with  a  sudden  change  in  his 
manner.  "  It  is  a  duty,  sir,  ye  owe,  not  to  me,  but  to  humanity. 
Ye  are  young,  strong,  have  plenty  of  time,  and  I  will  give  ye  the 
money.  Find  out  that  man  Smethurst;  get  him  face  to  face;  and 
fell  him  !  Fell  hira  !"  The  Laird  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  ta- 
ble with  a  bang  that  made  everything  jump,  and  his  eyes  were  like 
coals  of  fire.  "  None  o'  your  pistols  or  rapiers,  or  trash  like  that 
— no,  no!  a  mark  on  his  face  for  the  rest  of  his  life — the  brand 
of  a  scoondrcl  between  his  eyes — there !  will  ye  do  that  for  me?" 

"  But,  uncle,"  cried  the  young  man,  finding  this  alternative 
about  as  startling  as  the  other,  "  how  on  earth  can  I  find  him  ? 
He  is  off  to  Brazil,  or  Mexico,  or  California  long  ere  now,  you 
may  depend  on  it." 

The  Laird  had  pulled  himself  together  again. 

"  I  have  put  two  things  before  ye,"  said  he,  calmly.  "  It  is  the 
first  time  I  have  asked  ye  for  a  service,  after  having  brought  ye 
up  as  few  lads  have  been  brought  up.  If  you  think  it  is  unfair 
of  me  to  make  a  bargain  about  such  things,  I  will  tell  ye  frankly 
that  I  have  more  concern  in  that  young  thing  left  to  herself  than 
in  any  creature  now  living  on  earth ;  and  I  will  be  a  friend  to 
her  as  well  as  an  old  man  can.  I  have  asked  our  friends  here  to 
listen  to  what  I  had  to  say  ;  they  will  tell  ye  whethei'  1  am  un- 
reasonable.    I  will  leave  ye  to  talk  it  over." 

He  went  to  the  door.  Then  he  turned  for  a  inomcnt  to  his 
hostess. 

"  I  am  going  to  see,  ma'am,  if  Mary  will  go  for  a  bit  walk  wi' 
me — down  to  the  shore,  or  the  like ;  but  we  will  be  back  before 
the  hour  for  denner." 


THE    NKW    8UIT0K.  141 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE     NEW     SUITOR. 

It  is  only  those  who  have  lived  with  her  for  a  number  of  years 
who  can  tell  when  a  certain  person  becomes  possessed  with  the 
demon  of  mischief,  and  allows  sarcasm  and  malignant  laughter 
and  other  unholy  delights  to  run  riot  in  her  brain.  The  chief 
symptom  is  the  assumption  of  an  abnormal  gravity,  and  a  look  of 
simple  and  confiding  innocence  that  appears  in  the  eyes.  The 
eyes  tell  most  of  all.  The  dark  pupils  seem  even  clearer  than  is 
their  wont,  as  if  they  would  let  you  read  them  through  and 
through ;  and  there  is  a  sympathetic  appeal  in  them  ;  the  woman 
seems  so  anxious  to  be  kind,  and  friendly,  and  considerate.  And 
all  the  time — especially  if  it  be  a  man  who  is  hopelessly  dumb- 
founded— she  is  revenging  the  many  wrongs  of  her  sex  by  cov- 
ertly laughing  at  him  and  enjoying  his  discomfiture. 

And  no  doubt  the  expression  on  Howard  Smith's  face,  as  he 
sat  there  in  a  bewildered  silence,  was  ludicrous  enough.  He  was 
inclined  to  laugh  the  thing  away  as  a  joke,  but  he  knew  that  the 
Laird  was  not  given  to  practical  jokes.     And  yet — and  yet — 

"Do  you  really  think  he  is  serious?"  he  blurted  out  at  length; 
and  he  spoke  to  this  lady  with  the  gentle,  innocent  eyes. 

"  Oh,  undoubted!}","  she  answered,  with  perfect  gravity.       • 

"  Oh  no  ;  it  is  impossible  !"  he  said,  as  if  arguing  with  himself. 
"Why,  my  uncle,  of  all  men  in  the  world — and  pretending  it  was 
serious !  Of  course,  people  often  do  w'ish  their  sons  or  daughters 
to  marry  a  particular  person — for  a  sensible  reason,  to  keep  estates 
together  or  to  join  the  fortunes  of  a  family ;  but  this — no,  no ! 
this  is  a  joke,  or  else  he  wants  to  drive  me  into  giving  that  fellow 
a  licking.  And  that,  you  know,  is  quite  absurd ;  you  might  as 
well  drag  the  Atlantic  for  a  penknife." 

"  I  am  afraid  your  uncle  is  quite  serious,"  said  she,  demurely. 

"  But  it  was  to  be  left  to  you,"  he  answered,  quickly.  "  You 
were  to  say  whether  it  was  unreasonable.     Surely  you  must  see 


142  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 

it  is  not  reasonable.  Neither  the  one  thing  nor  the  other  is  pos- 
sible—" 

Here  the  young  man  paused  for  a  moment. 

"  Surely,"  he  said,  "  my  uncle  can't  mean,  by  putting  these  im- 
possible things  before  me,  to  justify  his  leaving  his  property  to 
somebody  else  ?  There  was  no  need  for  any  such  excuse  ;  I  have 
no  claim  on  him ;  he  has  a  right  to  do  what  he  pleases." 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  said  Queen  T ,  promptly. 

"  Your  uncle  is  quite  resolved,  I  know,  that  you  should  have 
Denny-mains." 

"  Yes — and  a  wife,"  responded  the  young  man,  with  a  some- 
what wry  smile.  "  Oh,  but  you  know  it  is  quite  absurd  !  You 
will  reason  him  out  of  it,  won't  you  ?  He  has  such  a  high  opin- 
ion of  your  judgment,  I  know." 

The  ingenious  youth ! 

"  Besides,"  said  he,  warmly,  "  do  you  think  it  very  compliment- 
ary to  your  friend  Miss  Avon  that  any  one  should  be  asked  to 
come  and  marry  her  ?" 

This  was  better ;  it  was  an  artful  thrust.  But  the  bland,  sym- 
pathetic eyes  only  paid  him  a  respectful  attention. 

"I  know  my  uncle  is  pretty  firm  when  he  has  got  a  notion 
into  his  head,"  said  he;  "and — and — no  doubt  he  is  quite  right 
in  thinking  that  the  young  lady  has  been  badly  treated,  and  that 
somebody  should  give  the  absconder  a  thrashing.  All  that  is 
quite  right;  but  why  should  I  be  made  responsible  for  it?  I 
can't  do  impossible  things." 

"Well,  you  sec,"  said  his  sage  adviser,  with  a  highly  matter-of- 
fact  air,  "  your  uncle  may  not  regard  either  the  one  thing  or  the 
othai*  as  impossible." 

"  But  they  are  impossible,"  said  he. 

"  Then  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  she,  with  great  sweetness ;  "  be- 
cause Denny -mains  is  really  a  beautiful  place,  and  the  house 
would  lend  itself  splendidly  to  a  thorough  scheme  of  redccora- 
tion  ;  the  liall  could  be  made  perfectly  lovely.  I  would  have  the 
wooden  dado  painted  a  dark  bottle-green,  and  the  wall  over  it  a 
rich  Pompeiian-red;  I  don't  believe  the  colors  of  a  hall  can  be 
too  bold  if  the  tones  are  good  in  themselves.  Pompeiian-red  is 
a  capital  background  for  pictures,  too ;  and  1  like  to  sec  pictures 
in  tlic  hall ;  the  gentlemen  can  look  at  tliem  while  they  are  wait- 
ing for  their  wives.     Don't  you  think  Indian  matting  makes  a 


THE    NEW    SUITOR.  li'.i 

very  nice,  serviceable,  sober-colored  dado  for  a  dining-room — so 
long  as  it  docs  not  drive  your  pictures  too  higli  on  the  wall  ?" 

The  fiendishness  of  this  woman!  Denny -mains  was  being 
withdrawn  from  him  at  this  very  moment,  and  she  was  bother- 
ing him  with  questions  about  its  decoration  !  What  did  he  think 
of  Indian  matting ! 

"Well,"  said  he,  "if  I  am  to  lose  my  chance  of  Denny-mains 
through  this  piece  of  absurdity,  I  can't  help  it." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  she,  most  amiably ;  "  but  I  don't 
think  your  uncle's  proposal  so  very  absurd.  It  is  the  commonest 
thing  in  the  world  for  people  to  wish  persons  in  whom  they  are 
interested  to  marry  each  other;  and  very  often  they  succeed  by 
merely  getting  the  young  people  to  meet,  ^nd  so  forth.  You  say 
yourself  that  it  is  reasonable  in  certain  cases.  Well,  in  this  case, 
you  probably  don't  know  how  great  an  interest  your  uncle  takes 
in  Miss  Avon,  and  the  affection  that  he  has  for  her.  It  is  quite 
remarkable.  And  he  has  been  dwelling  on  this  possibility  of  a 
match  between  you — of  seeing  you  both  settled  at  Denny-mains 
— until  he  almost  regards  it  as  already  arranged.  *  Put  yourself 
in  his  place,'  as  Mr.  Reade  says.  It  seems  to  him  the  most  natu- 
ral thing  in  the  world,  and  I  am  afraid  he  will  consider  you  very 
ungrateful  if  you  don't  fall  in  with  his  plan." 

Deeper  and  deeper  grew  the  shadow  of  perplexity  on  the  young 
man's  brow.  At  first  he  had  seemed  inclined  to  laugh  the  whole 
matter  aside,  but  the  gentle  reasoning  of  this  small  person  had  a 
ghastly  aspect  of  seriousness  about  it. 

"  Then  his  notion  of  my  seeking  out  the  man  Smethurst  and 
giving  him  a  thrashing:  you  would  justify  that  too?"  he  cried. 

"  No,  not  quite,"  she  answered,  with  a  bit  of  a  smile.  "  That 
is  a  little  absurd,  I  admit — it  is  merely  an  ebullition  of  anger. 
He  won't  think  any  more  of  that  in  a  day  or  two,  I  am  certain. 
But  the  other — the  other,  I  fear,  is  a  fixed  idea." 

At  this  point  we  heard  some  one  calling  outside : 

"  Miss  Mary  !  I  have  been  searching  for  ye  everywhere  ;  are  ye 
coming  for  a  walk  down  to  the  shore  ?" 

Then  a  voice,  apparently  overhead,  at  an  open  window  : 

"All  right,  sir;  I  will  be  down  in  a  moment." 

Another  second  or  two,  and  we  hear  some  one  singing  on  the 
stair,  with  a  fine  air  of  bravado  : 

?' '  A  strong  sou'-wester's  blowing,  Billy ;  can't  you  hear  it  roar,  now ?'  " 


144  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

— the  gay  voice  passes  through  the  liall — 

" '  Lord  help  'em,  how  I  pities  all  uu — '  " 
— then  the  last  phrase  is  heard  outside — 

"  '  — folks  on  shore  now.'  " 

Queen  Titania  darts  to  the  open  window  of  the  dining-room, 
"  Mary  !  Mary  !"  she  calls.     "  Come  here  !" 

The  next  instant  a  pretty  enough  picture  is  framed  by  the  low- 
er half  of  the  window,  which  is  open.  The  background  is  a  blaze 
of  scarlet  and  yellow  and  green — a  mixture  of  sunlight  and  red 
poppies  and  nasturtiums  and  glancing  fuchsia  leaves.  Then  this 
slight  figure  that  has  appeared  is  dark  in  shadow ;  but  there  is 
a  soft  reflected  light  from  the  front  of  the  house,  and  that  just 
shows  you  the  smile  on  Mary  Avon's  face,  and  the  friendliness  of 
her  dark,  soft  eyes. 

"  Oh,  how  do  you  do  ?"  she  says,  reaching  in  her  hand  and 
shaking  hands  with  him.  There  is  not  any  timidity  in  her  man- 
ner. No  one  has  been  whispering  to  her  of  the  dark  plots  sur- 
rounding her. 

Nor  was  Mr,  Smith  much  embarrassed,  though  he  did  not  show 
himself  as  grateful  as  a  young  man  might  have  done  for  so  frank 
and  friendly  a  welcome, 

"  I  scarcely  thought  you  would  have  remembered  me,"  said  he, 
modestly.  But  at  this  moment  Denny-mains  interfered,  and  took 
the  young  lady  by  the  arm  and  dragged  her  away.  We  heard 
their  retreating  footsteps  on  the  gravel-walk, 

"So  you  remember  her?"  says  our  hostess,  to  break  the  awk- 
ward silence. 

"  Oh  yes,  well  enough,"  said  he ;  and  then  he  goes  on  to 
say,  stammeringly,  "  Of  course  I — I  have  nothing  to  say  against 
licr— " 

"  If  you  have,"  it  is  here  interposed,  as  a  wholesome  warning, 
"you  had  better  not  mention  it  here.  Ten  thousand  hornets' 
nests  would  be  a  fool  compared  to  this  house  if  you  said  any- 
thing in  it  against  Mary  Avon," 

"On  the  contrary," .says  he,  "I  suppose  she  is  a  very  nice  girl 
indeed — very ;  I  suppose  there's  no  doubt  of  it.  And  if  she  has 
been  robbed  like  that,  I  am  very  sorry  for  her;  and  I  don't  won- 
der my  imcle  sliould  be  interested  in  her,  and  concerned  about 


THE    NEW    SUITOR.  145 

her,  and — and  all  that's  quite  right.  But  it  is  too  bad — it  is  too 
bad — that  one  should  be  expected  to — to  ask  her  to  be  one's 
wife,  and  a  sort  of  penalty  hanging  over  your  head,  too.  Why, 
it  is  enough  to  set  anybody  against  the  whole  thing !  I  thought 
everybody  knew  that  you  can't  get  people  to  marry  if  you  drive 
them  to  it — except  in  France,  I  suppose,  where  the  whole  business 
is  arranged  for  you  by  your  relatives.  This  isn't  France ;  and  I 
am  quite  sure  Miss  Avon  would  consider  herself  very  unfairly 
treated  if  she  thought  she  was  being  made  part  and  parcel  of  any 
such  arrangement.  As  for  me — well,  I  am  very  grateful  to  my 
uncle  for  his  long  kindness  to  me ;  he  has  been  kindness  itself 
to  me ;  and  it  is  quite  true,  as  he  says,  that  he  has  asked  for 
nothing  in  return.  Well,  what  he  asks  now  is  just  a  trifle  too 
much.  I  won't  sell  myself  for  any  property.  If  he  is  really  se- 
rious— if  it  is  to  be  a  compulsory  marriage  like  that — Denny- 
mains  can  go.     I  shall  be  able  to  earn  my  own  living  somehow." 

There  was  a  chord  struck  in  this  brief,  hesitating,  but  emphat- 
ic speech  that  went  straight  to  his  torturer's  heart.  A  look  of 
liking  and  approval  sprang  to  her  eyes.  She  would  no  longer 
worry  him. 

"  Don't  you  think,"  said  she,  gently,  "  that  you  are  taking  the 
matter  too  seriously?  Your  uncle  does  not  wish  to  force  you 
into  a  marriage  against  your  will ;  he  knows  nothing  about  Adel- 
phi  melodramas.  What  he  asks  is  simple  and  natural  enough. 
He  is,  as  you  see,  very  fond  of  Islavy  Avon  ;  he  Avould  like  to  see 
her  well  provided  for ;  he  would  like  to  see  you  settled  and  es- 
tablished at  Denny-mains.  But  he  does  not  ask  the  impossible. 
If  she  does  not  agTee,  neither  he  nor  you  can  help  it.  Don't  you 
think  it  would  be  a  very  simple  matter  for  you  to  remain  with  us 
for  a  time,  pay  her  some  ordinary  friendly  attention,  and  then 
show  your  uncle  that  the  arrangement  he  would  like  does  not 
recommend  itself  to  either  you  or  her.  He  asks  no  more  than 
that ;  it  is  not  much  of  a  sacrifice." 

There  was  no  stammering  about  this  lady's  exposition  of  the 
case.  Her  head  is  not  very  big,  but  its  perceptive  powers  are  re- 
markable. 

Then  the  young  man's  face  brightened  considerably. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  that  would  be  more  sensible,  surely.  If  you 
take  away  the  threat,  and  the  compulsion,  and  all  that,  there  can 
be  no  harm  in  my  being  civil  to  a  girl,  especially  when  she  is,  I 


146  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 

am  sure,  just  the  sort  of  girl  one  ought  to  be  civil  to.  I  am  sure 
she  has  plenty  of  common-sense — " 

It  is  here  suggested  once  more  that,  in  this  house,  negative 
praise  of  Mary  Avon  is  likely  to  awake  slumbering  lions. 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  doubt,"  says  he,  readily,  "  that  she  is  a  very 
nice  girl  indeed.  One  would  not  have  to  pretend  to  be  civil  to 
some  creature  stuffed  with  affectation,  or  a  ghoul.  I  don't  object 
to  that  at  all.  If  my  uncle  thinks  that  enough,  very  well.  And 
I  am  quite  sure  that  a  girl  you  think  so  much  of  would  have 
more  self-respect  than  to  expect  anybody  to  go  and  make  love  to 
her  in  the  country-bumpkin  style." 

Artful  again ;  but  it  was  a  bad  shot.  There  was  just  a  little 
asperity  in  madame's  manner  when  she  said, 

"  I  beg  you  not  to  forget  that  Mary  does  not  wish  to  be  made 
love  to  by  anybody ;  she  is  quite  content  as  she  is.  Perhaps 
she  has  quite  other  views,  which  you  would  not  regret,  I  am  sure. 
But  don't  imagine  that  she  is  looking  for  a  husband,  or  that  a 
husband  is  necessary  for  her,  or  that  she  won't  find  friends  to 
look  after  her.     It  is  your  interests  we  are  considering,  not  hers." 

Was  the  snubbing  sufficient? 

"  Oh,  of  course,  of  course,"  said  he,  quite  humbly.  "  But  then, 
you  know,  I  was  only  thinking  that — that  if  I  am  to  go  in  and 
make  believe  about  being  civil  to  your  young  lady  friend,  in  or- 
der to  please  my  uncle,  too  much  should  not  be  expected.  It 
isn't  a  very  nice  thing — at  least,  for  you  it  may  be  very  nice — to 
look  on  at  a  comedy — " 

"And  is  it  so  very  hard  to  be  civil  to  a  girl?"  says  his  moni- 
tress,  sharply.  "  Mary  will  not  shock  you  with  the  surprise  of 
her  gratitude.  She  might  have  been  married  ere  now  if  she  had 
chosen." 

"  She — isn't — quite  a  school-girl,  you  know,"  he  says,  timidly. 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  men  preferred  to  marry  school-girls," 
says  the  other,  with  a  gathering  majesty  of  demeanor. 

Here  a  humble  witness  of  this  interview  has  once  more  to 
interpose  to  save  this  daring  young  man  from  a  thunder-bolt. 
Will  he  not  understand  that  the  remotest  and  most  roundabout 
reflection  on  Mary  Avon  is  in  this  house  the  unpardonable  sin? 

"  Well,"  said  he,  frankly,  "  it  is  exceedingly  kind  of  you  to 
show  me  how  I  am  to  get  out  of  this  troublesome  affair ;  and 
I  am  afraid  I  must  leave  it  to  you  to  convince  my  uncle  that  I 


THE    NEW    SUITOR.  14V 

have  done  sufficient.  And  it  is  very  kind  of  )-ou  to  ask  me  to 
go  yachting  with  you :  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  in  the  way.  And 
— and  there  is  no  reason  at  all  why  Miss  Avon  and  I  should  not 
become  very  good  friends.  In  fact,  I  hope  we  shall  become  such 
good  friends  that  my  uncle  will  see  we  could  not  be  anything 
else." 

Could  anything  be  fairer  than  this  ?  His  submission  quite 
conquered  his  hostess.  She  said  she  would  show  him  some  of 
Mary  Avon's  sketches  in  oil,  and  led  him  away  for  that  purpose. 
His  warm  admiration  confirmed  her  good  opinion  of  him  ;  hence- 
forth he  had  nothing  to  fear. 

At  dinner  that  evening  he  was  at  first  a  little  shy ;  perhaps  he 
had  a  suspicion  that  there  were  present  one  or  two  spectators  of 
a  certain  comedy  which  he  had  to  play  all  by  himself.  But,  in- 
deed, our  eyes  and  ears  were  not  for  him  alone.  Miss  Avon  was 
delighting  the  Laird  with  stories  of  the  suggestions  she  had  got 
about  her  pictures  from  the  people  who  had  seen  them — even 
from  the  people  who  had  bought  them — in  London. 

"  And  you  know,"  said  she,  quite  frankly,  "  I  must  study  pop- 
ular taste  as  much  as  I  fairly  can  now,  for  I  have  to  live  by  it. 
If  people  will  have  sea-pieces  spoiled  by  having  figures  put  in,  I 
must  put  in  figures.  By-and-by  I  may  be  in  a  position  to  do  my 
own  work  in  my  own  way." 

The  Laird  glanced  at  his  nephew:  was  it  not  for  him  to  eman- 
cipate this  great  and  original  artist  from  the  fear  of  critics,  and 
dealers,  and  purchasers  ?     There  was  no  response. 

"  I  mean  to  be  in  London  soon  myself,"  the  Laird  said,  abrupt- 
ly ;  "  ye  must  tell  me  where  I  can  see  some  of  your  pictures." 

"  Oh  no,"  she  said,  laughing,  "  I  shall  not  victimize  my  friends. 
I  mean  to  prey  on  the  public — if  possible.  It  is  Mr.  White,  in 
King  Street,  St.  James's,  however,  who  has  taken  most  of  my 
pictures  hitherto ;  and  so  if  you  knoAV  of  anybody  who  would 
like  to  acquire  immortal  works  for  a  few  guineas  apiece,  that  is 
the  address." 

"  I  am  going  to  London  myself  soon,"  said  he,  with  a  serious 
air,  as  if  he  had  suddenly  determined  on  buying  the  National 
Gallery. 

Then  Howard  Smith,  perceiving  that  no  one  was  watching  him, 
or  expecting  impossibilities  of  him,  became  quite  cheerful  and 
talkative ;  and  told  some  excellent  stories  of  his  experiences  at 


148  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  komance. 

various  shooting  quarters  the  previous  winter.  Light -hearted, 
good-natured,  fairly  humorous,  he  talked  very  well  indeed.  We 
gathered  that  during  the  last  months  of  the  year  the  shooting  of 
pheasants  occupied  a  good  deal  more  of  his  time  and  attention 
than  the  study  of  law.  And  how  could  one  wonder  that  so  pleas- 
ant-mannered a  young  man  was  a  welcome  guest  at  those  various 
country  houses  in  the  South  ? 

But  it  appeared  that,  despite  all  this  careless  talk,  he  had  been 
keeping  an  eye  on  Mary  Avon  during  dinner.  Walking  down  to 
the  yacht  afterward — the  blood-red  not  quite  gone  from  the  west- 
ern skies,  a  cool  wind  coming  wp  from  the  sea — he  said,  casually, 
to  his  uncle, 

"  Well,  sir,  whatever  trouble  that  young  lady  may  have  gone 
through  has  not  crushed  her  spirits  yet.  She  is  as  merry  as  a 
lark." 

"  She  has  more  than  cheerfulness — she  has  courage,"  said  the 
Laird,  almost  severely.  "  Oh  ay ;  plenty  of  courage.  And  I 
have  no  doubt  she  could  fight  the  world  for  herself  just  as  well 
as  any  man  I  know.  But  I  mean  to  make  it  my  business  that 
she  shall  not  have  to  fight  the  world  for  herself — not  as  long  as 
there  is  a  stick  standing  on  Denny-mains !" 


CHAPTER  XX. 

CHASING    A    THUNDER-STORM. 


"All  on  board,  then !  —  all  on  board!"  the  summons  comes 
ringing  through  the  wonder-land  of  dreams.  And  then,  amidst 
the  general  hurry  and  scurry  throughout  the  house,  certain  half- 
bewildered  people  turn  first  of  all  to  the  windows  of  their  rooms : 
a  welcome  sight !  The  glory  of  the  summer  dawn  is  shining  over 
the  mountains ;  the  White  Dove,  with  nearly  all  her  sails  set,  is 
swinging  there  at  her  moorings;  best  of  all,  a  strong  breeze,  ap- 
parently from  the  north-east,  is  ruffling  the  dark-blue  seas,  and 
driving  a  line  of  white  surf  on  the  farther  shores.  The  news 
comes  that  Master  Fred,  by  darting  about  in  the  dingy  since  ever 
daylight  began,  has  got  the  very  last  basket  on  board;  the  red 
caps  are  even  now  bringing  the  gig  in  to  the  landing-slip;  John 


CHASING    A    THUNDER-STORM.  149 

of  Skye  is  all  impatience  to  take  advantage  of  the  favorable  wind. 
There  is  but  little  time  lost;  the  happy-go-lucky  procession — 
dona  ferentes — set  out  for  the  beach.  And  if  the  Laird  is  pleased 
to  find  his  nephew  apparently  falling  into  his  scheme  w'ith  a  good 
grace,  and  if  the  nephew  thinks  he  is  very  lucky  to  get  so  easily 
out  of  an  awkward  predicament,  and  if  Mary  Avon,  unconscious 
of  these  secret  designs,  is  full  of  an  eager  delight  at  the  prospect 
of  being  allowed  to  set  to  work  again,  may  not  all  this  account 
for  a  certain  indecorous  gayety  that  startles  the  silence  of  the 
summer  morning  ?  Or  is  it  that  mythical  hero  Honiesh  who  is 
responsible  for  this  laughter  ?  We  hear  the  Laird  chuckling ; 
we  notice  the  facetious  wrinkles  about  his  eyes ;  we  make  sure 
it  must  be  Homesh.  Then  the  final  consignment  of  books, 
shawls,  gun-cases,  and  Avhat  not  is  tossed  into  the  gig,  and  away 
we  go,  with  the  measured  dash  of  the  oars. 

And  what  does  the  bearded  John  of  Skye  think  of  the  new 
hand  we  have  brought  him  ?  Has  he  his  own  suspicions  ?  Is 
his  friend  and  sworn  ally.  Dr.  Sutherland,  to  bo  betrayed  and 
supplanted  in  his  absence  ? 

"Good-morning,  sir,"  he  says,  obediently,  at  the  gangway;  and 
the  quick  Celtic  eyes  glance  at  Howard  Smith  from  top  to  toe. 

"Good -morning,  captain,"  the  young  man  says,  lightly;  and 
he  springs  too  quickly  up  the  steps,  making  a  little  bit  of  a  stum- 
ble.    This  is  not  an  auspicious  omen. 

Then  on  deck :  the  handsome  figure  and  pleasant  manner  of 
this  young  man  ought  surely  to  prepossess  people  in  his  favor. 
What  if  his  tightly-fitting  garments  and  his  patent-leather  boots 
and  white  gaiters  are  not  an  orthodox  yachting  rig?  John  of 
Skye  would  not  judge  of  a  man  by  his  costume.  And  if  he 
does  not  seem  quite  at  home — in  this  first  look  round — every 
one  is  not  so  familiar  with  boating  life  as  Dr.  Sutherland.  It  is 
true,  an  umbrella  used  as  a  walking-stick  looks  strange  on  board 
a  yacht;  and  he  need  not  have  put  it  on  the  curved  top  of  the 
companion,  for  it  immediately  rolls  over  into  the  scuppers.  Nor 
does  he  seem  to  see  the  wickedness  of  placing  a  heavy  bundle 
of  canvases  on  the  raised  skylight  of  the  ladies'  cabin  :  does  he 
want  to  start  the  glass  ?  Dr.  Sutherland,  now,  would  have  given 
the  men  a  hand  in  hauling  up  the  gig.  Dr.  Sutherland  would 
not  have  been  in  the  way  of  the  tiller  as  the  yacht  is  released 
from  her  moorings. 


150  WHITE  ■wings:    a  vachtixg  romance. 

Unaware  of  this  rapid  criticism,  and  unconcerned  by  all  the 
bustle  going  on  around,  our  new  friend  is  carelessly  and  cheer- 
fully chatting  with  his  hostess ;  admiring  the  yacht ;  praising 
the  beauty  of  the  summer  morning ;  delighted  with  the  prospect 
of  sailing  in  such  weather.  He  does  not  share  in  the  profound 
curiosity  of  his  uncle  about  the  various  duties  of  the  men.  When 
John  of  Skye,  wishing  to  leave  the  tiller  for  a  minute  to  overhaul 
the  lee  tackle,  turns  quite  naturally  to  Mary  Avon,  who  is  stand- 
ing by  him,  and  says,  with  a  grin  of  apology,  "  If  ye  please, 
mem,"  the  young  man  betrays  but  little  surprise  that  this  young- 
lady  should  be  intrusted  with  the  command  of  the  vessel. 

"  What !"  he  says,  with  a  pleasant  smile — they  seem  on  very 
friendly  terms  already — "  can  you  steer.  Miss  Avon  ?  Mind  you 
don't  run  us  against  any  rocks," 

Miss  Avon  has  her  eye  on  the  main-sail.  She  answers,  with  a 
business-like  air : 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  fear  of  that.  What  I  have  to  mind,  with  this 
wind,  is  not  to  let  her  jibe,  or  I  should  get  into  disgrace." 

"Then  I  hope  you  won't  let  her  jibe,  whatever  that  is,"  said 
he,  with  a  laugh. 

Never  was  any  setting  out  more  auspicious.  We  seemed  to 
have  bade  farewell  to  those  perpetual  calms.  Early  as  it  was  in 
the  morning,  there  was  no  still,  dream-like  haze  about  the  moun- 
tains ;  tlicre  was  a  clear  greenish-yellow  where  the  sunlight  struck 
them ;  the  great  slopes  were  dappled  with  the  shadows  of  purple- 
brown  ;  farther  away,  the  tall  peaks  were  of  a  decided  blue.  And 
then  the  windy,  fresh,  brisk  morning ;  the  White  Dove  running 
races  with  the  driven  seas ;  the  white  foam  flying  away  from  her 
sides.  John  of  Skye  seemed  to  have  no  fear  of  this  gentle  skip- 
per. He  remained  forward  superintending  the  setting  of  the  top- 
sail :  the  White  Dove  was  to  "  have  it "  while  the  fresh  breeze 
continued  to  blow. 

And  still  the  squally  north-easter  bears  her  bravely  onward, 
the  puffs  darkening  the  water  as  they  pass  us  and  strike  the 
rushing  seas.  Is  that  a  shadow  of  Colonsay  on  the  far  southern 
horizon  ?  The  light-house  people  here  have  gone  to  bed ;  there 
is  not  a  single  figure  along  the  yellow-white  walls.  Look  at  the 
clouds  of  gulls  on  the  rocks,  resting  after  their  morning  meal. 
By  this  time  the  deer  have  retreated  into  the  high  slopes  above 
Craignure ;  there  is  a  white  foam  breaking  along  the  bay  of  In- 


CHASING    A    THUNDER-STORM.  151 

nismorc.  And  still  the  White  Dove  spins  along,  with  foam-dia- 
monds glittering  in  the  sunlight  at  her  bows ;  and  w'e  hear  the 
calling  of  the  sea-swallows,  and  the  throbbing  of  a  steamer  some- 
where in  among  the  shadows  of  Loch  Aline.  Surely  now  we 
are  out  of  the  reign  of  calms :  the  great  boom  strains  at  the 
sheets;  there  is  a  whirl  of  blue  waters;  the  White  Dove  has 
.'jpread  her  wings  at  last 

"Ay,  ay,"  says  John  of  Skye,  who  has  relieved  Miss  Avon  at 
the  helm  ;  "  it  iss  a  great  pcety." 

"Why,  John  ?"  says  she,  with  some  surprise.  Is  he  vexed  that 
we  should  be  sailing  well  on  this  fine  sailing  day  ? 

"  It  iss  a  great  peety  that  Mr.  Sutherland  not  here,"  said  John, 
"  and  he  wass  know  so  much  about  a  yacht,  and  day  after  day 
not  a  breeze  at  ahl.  There  iss  not  many  chentlemen  will  know 
so  much  about  a  yacht  as  Mr,  Sutherland." 

Miss  Avon  did  not  answer,  though  her  face  seemed  conscious 
in  its  color.     She  was  deeply  engaged  in  a  novel. 

"  Oh,  that  is  the  Mr.  Sutherland  who  has  been  with  you,"  said 
Howard  Smith  to  his  hostess,  in  a  cheerful  way.  "  A  doctor,  I 
think  you  said  ?" 

At  this  Miss  Avon  looked  up  quickly  from  her  book. 

"  I  should  have  thought,"  said  she,  with  a  certain  dignity  of 
manner,  "  that  most  people  had  heard  of  Dr.  Angus  Sutherland." 

"  Oh  yes,  no  doubt,"  said  he,  in  the  most  good-natured  fash- 
ion. "  I  know  about  him  myself — it  must  be  the  same  man. 
A  nephew  of  Lord  Foyers,  isn't  he  ?  I  met  some  friends  of  his 
at  a  house  last  winter ;  they  liad  his  book  with  them — the  book 
about  tiger-hunting  in  Nepaul,  don't  you  know  ?  Very  interest- 
ing indeed  it  was  —  uncommonly  interesting.  I  read  it  right 
through  one  night  when  everybody  else  was  in  bed — " 

"  Why,  that  is  Captain  Sutherland's  book,"  said  his  hostess, 
with  just  a  trace  of  annoyance.  "  They  are  not  even  related. 
How  can  you  imagine  that  Angus  Sutherland  would  write  a 
book  about  tiger-hunting  ?  He  is  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
men  of  science  in  England." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  says  the  young  man,  with  the  most  imperturba- 
ble good-humor.  "  Oh  yes,  I  am  sure  I  have  heard  of  him — the 
Geographical  Society,  or  something  like  that;  really  those  even- 
ings are  most  amusing.  The  women  are  awfully  bored,  and  yet 
they  do  keep  their  eyes  open  somehow.     But  about  those  Indian 


152  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

fellows ;  it  was  only  last  winter  that  I  heard  how  the 

manages  to  make  those  enormous  bags,  all  to  his  own  gun,  that 
you  see  in  the  papers.     Haven't  you  noticed  them  ?" 

Well,  some  of  us  had  been  struck  with  amazement  by  the  re- 
ports of  the  enormous  slaughter  committed  by  a  certain  Indian 
prince,  and  had  wondered  at  one  of  the  gentle  natives  of  the  East 
taking  so  thoroughly  and  successfully  to  our  robust  English  sports. 

"  Why,"  said  this  young  man,  "  he  has  every  covert  laid  out 
with  netting,  in  small  squares  like  a  dice-board,  and  when  he  has 
done  blazing  away  in  the  air,  the  under -keepers  come  up  and 
catch  every  pheasant,  hare,  and  rabbit  that  has  run  into  the  net- 
ting, and  kill  them,  and  put  them  down  to  his  bag.  Ingenious, 
isn't  it  ?     But  I'll  tell  you  what  I  have  seen  myself.     I  have  seen 

Lord  Justice deliberately  walk  down  a  line  of  netting  and 

shoot  every  pheasant  and  rabbit  that  had  got  entangled.  '  Safer 
not  to  let  them  get  away,'  says  he.  And  when  his  host  came  up 
he  said,  'Very  good  shooting — capital.  I  have  got  four  pheas- 
ants and  seven  rabbits  there;  I  suppose  the  beaters  will  pick 
them  up.' " 

And  so  the  Youth,  as  we  had  got  to  call  him,  rattled  on,  re- 
lating his  personal  experiences,  and  telling  such  stories  as  oc- 
curred to  him.  There  was  a  good  sprinkling  of  well-known 
names  in  this  desultory  talk :  how  could  Miss  Avon  fail  to  be  in- 
terested, even  if  the  subject-matter  was  chiefly  composed  of  pheas- 
ant-shooting, private  theatricals,  billiard  matches  on  wet  days, 
and  the  other  amusements  of  country  life  ? 

The  Laird,  when  he  did  turn  aside  from  that  huge  volume  of 
Municipal  London,  which  he  had  brought  with  him  for  purposes 
of  edification,  must  have  seen  and  approved.  If  the  young  man's 
attentions  to  Mary  Avon  were  of  a  distinctly  friendly  sort,  if  they 
were  characterized  by  an  obvious  frankness,  if  they  were  quite 
as  much  at  the  disposal  of  Mr.  Smith's  hostess,  what  more  could 
be  expected?  Rome  was  not  built  in  a  day.  Meanwhile  Miss 
Avon  seemed  very  well  pleased  with  her  new  companion. 

And  if  it  may  have  occurred  to  one  or  other  of  us  that  Howard 
Smith's  talking,  however  pleasant,  and  good-natured,  and  bright, 
was  on  a  somewhat  lower  level  than  that  of  another  of  our  friends, 
what  then?  Was  it  not  better  fitted  for  idle  sailing  among  sum- 
mer seas?  Now,  indeed,  our  good  friend  the  Laird  had  no  need 
to  fear  being  startled  by  the  sudden  propounding  of  conundrums. 


CHASING    A    THUNDER-STORM.  153 

He  was  startled  by  something  else.  Coming  up  from  luncheon, 
we  found  that  au  extraordinary  darkness  prevailed  in  the  western 
heavens — a  strange  bronze-purple  gloom,  that  seemed  to  contain 
within  it  the  promise  of  a  hundred  thunder-storms.  And  as  this 
fair  wind  had  now  brought  us  within  sight  of  the  open  Atlantic, 
the  question  was  whether  we  should  make  for  Skye  or  run  right 
under  this  lurid  mass  of  cloud  that  appeared  to  lie  all  along  the 
western  shores  of  Mull.  Unanimously  the  vote  was  for  the  latter 
course.  Had  not  Angus  Sutherland  been  anxious  all  along  to 
witness  a  thunder-storm  at  sea?  Might  it  not  be  of  inestimable 
value  to  Miss  Avon  ?  John  of  Skye,  not  understanding  these 
reasons,  pointed  out  that  the  wind  had  backed  somewhat  to  the 
north,  and  that  Mull  would  give  us  surer  shelter  than  Skye  for 
the  night.  And  so  we  bore  away  past  Quiuish,  the  brisk  breeze 
sending  the  White  Dove  along  in  capital  style ;  past  the  mouth 
of  Loch  Cuan ;  past  the  wild  Cailleach  Point ;  past  the  broad 
Calgary  Bay,  and  past  the  long  headland  of  Ru-Treshanish.  It 
was  a  strange  afternoon.  The  sun  was  hidden,  but  in  the  south 
and  west  there  was  a  wan,  clear,  silver  glow  on  the  sea ;  and  in 
this  white  light  the  islands  of  Lunga,  and  Fladda,  and  Staffa, 
and  the  Dutchman  were  of  a  sombre  purple.  Darker  still  were 
the  islands  lying  toward  the  land — Gometra,  and  Ulva,  and  Inch 
Kenneth — w'hilc  the  great  rampart  of  cliff  from  Loch-na-Keal  to 
Loch  Scridaiu  was  so  wrapped  in  gloom  that  momentarily  we 
watched  for  the  first  quivering  flash  of  the  lightning.  Then  the 
wind  died  away.  The  sea  grew  calm.  On  the  glassy  gray  sur- 
face the  first  drops  of  the  rain  fell,  striking  black,  and  then 
widening  out  in  small  circles.  We  were  glad  of  the  cool  rain, 
but  the  whispering  of  it  sounded  strangely  in  the  silence. 

Then,  as  we  are  still  watching  for  the  first  silver-blue  flash  of 
the  lightning,  behold !  the  mighty  black  wall  of  the  Bourg  and 
Gribun  cliffs  slowly,  mysteriously  disappears,  and  there  is  otily 
before  us  a  vague  mist  of  gray.  Colonsay  is  gone;  Inch  Ken- 
neth is  gone ;  no  longer  can  we  make  out  the  dark  rocks  of  Eris- 
geir.  And  then  the  whispering  of  the  sea  increases ;  there  is  a 
deeper  gloom  overhead ;  the  rain-king  is  upon  us.  There  is  a 
hasty  retreat  down -stairs;  the  hatches  are  shoved  over;  after 
dinner  we  shall  see  what  this  strange  evening  portends. 

"I  hope  wc  shall  get  into  the  Sound  of  Ulva  before  dark," 
says  Miss  Avon. 


154  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 

"I  wish  Angus  was  on  board.  It  is  a  shame  he  should  be 
cheated  out  of  his  thunder-storm.  But  we  shall  have  the  equi- 
noctials for  him,  at  all  events,"  says  Queen  Titania — just  as  if  she 
had  a  series  of  squalls  and  tempests  bottled,  labelled,  and  put  on 
a  shelf. 

When  we  get  on  deck  again  we  find  that  the  evening,  but  not 
the  White  Dove,  has  advanced.  There  is  no  wind ;  there  is  no 
rain ;  around  us  there  is  the  silent,  glassy,  lilac-gray  sea,  which, 
far  aAvay  in  the  west,  has  one  or  two  gleams  of  a  dull  bronze  on 
it,  as  if  some  after-glow  were  struggling  through  the  clouds  at  the 
horizon.  Along  the  Gribun  cliffs,  and  over  the  islands,  the  gloom 
has  surely  increased ;  it  were  better  if  we  were  in  some  shelter 
for  this  night. 

Then  a  noise  is  heard  that  seems  to  impose  a  sudden  silence — 
thunder,  low,  distant,  and  rumbling.  But  there  is  no  splendid 
gleam  through  the  gathering  gloom  of  the  night:  the  Gribun 
cliffs  have  not  spoken  yet. 

John  of  Skye  has  carelessly  seated  himself  on  one  of  the  deck 
stools ;  his  arm  hangs  idly  on  the  tiller ;  we  guess,  rather  than 
hear,  that  he  is  regaling  himself  with  the  sad,  monotonous  "  Fare- 
well to  Funeray."  He  has  got  on  his  black  oil -skins,  though 
there  is  not  a  drop  of  rain. 

By-and-by,  however,  he  jumps  to  his  feet,  and  appears  to  listen 
intently. 

"Ay,  do  you  hear  it?"  he  says,  Avith  a  short  laugh.  "And  it 
is  off  the  land  it  is  coming !" 

He  calls  aloud : 

"  Look  out  boys !  it  is  a  squahl  coming  over,  and  we'll  hev  the 
top-sail  down  whatever." 

Then  we  hear  a  roaring  in  the  dark ;  and  presently  the  head- 
sails  are  violently  shaken,  and  the  great  boom  swings  over  as 
John  puts  the  helm  up  to  get  way  on  her.  The  next  instant  we 
are  racing  in  for  the  land,  as  if  we  mean  to  challenge  the  heavy 
squall  that  is  tearing  across  from  the  unseen  Gribun  cliffs.  And 
now  the  rain -clouds  break  in  deluges;  the  men  in  their  black 
oil -skins  go  staggering  this  way  and  that  along  the  slippery 
decks ;  the  White  Dove  is  wrestling  with  the  sudden  storm  ;  an- 
other low  murmur  of  thunder  comes  booming  through  the  dark- 
ness. What  is  that  solitary  light  far  in  there  toward  the  land  ? 
■ — dare  any  steamer  venture  so  near  the  shore  on  such  a  night? 


CHASING    A    THUNDER-STORM.  165 

And  we  too :  would  it  not  be  safer  for  us  to  turn  and  run  out  to 
sea  rather  than  beat  against  a  squall  into  the  narrow  and  shallow 
channels  of  Ulva's  Sound?  But  John  of  Skye  is  not  afraid. 
The  wind  and  sea  cannot  drown  his  strident  voice ;  the  rain 
deluge  cannot  blind  the  trained  eyes ;  the  men  on  the  lookout — 
when  the  bow  of  the  boat  springs  high  on  a  wave  we  can  see  the 
black  figures  against  the  sombre  sky — know  the  channels  too: 
we  are  not  afraid  to  make  for  Ulva's  Sound. 

There  is  a  wild  ciy  from  one  of  the  women ;  she  has  caught 
sight,  through  the  gloom,  of  white  foam  dashing  on  the  rocks. 

"  It  is  all  right,  mem,"  John  calls  aloud,  with  a  laugh ;  but 
all  the  same  the  order  is  shouted:  ^'' Ready  about P''  — '"'' Ready 
about  P''  is  the  call  coming  back  to  us  from  the  darkness.  "  ''Bout 
ship  .^"  and  then  away  she  sheers  from  that  ugly  coast. 

We  were,  after  all,  cheated  of  our  thunder-storm,  but  it  was  a 
wild  and  a  wet  night,  nevertheless.  Taking  in  the  mizzen  was  no 
joke  amidst  this  fury  of  wind  and  rain,  but  that  and  the  hauling 
up  of  the  main-tack  lessened  the  pressure  on  her.  John  of  Skye 
was  in  high  spirits.  He  was  proud  of  his  knowledge  of  the 
dangerous  coast ;  where  less  familiar  eyes  saw  only  vague  black 
masses  looming  out  of  the  darkness,  he  recognized  every  rock 
and  headland. 

"No,  no,  mem,"  he  was  calling  out  in  friendly  tones,  "we  not 
hef  to  run  out  to  sea  at  ahl.  We  will  get  into  the  Sound  of 
Ulva  ferry  well ;  and  there  will  not  be  any  better  anchorage  as 
the  Sound  of  Ulva,  when  you  are  acquaint.  But  a  stranger — I 
not  ask  a  stranger  to  go  into  the  Sound  of  Ulva  on  so  dark  a 
night." 

What  is  this  we  hear?  '''' Doivn fore-sail,  boys P'' — and  there 
is  a  rattle  on  to  the  decks.  The  head  of  the  yacht  seems  to 
sway  round ;  there  is  a  loud  flapping  of  sails.  "  Down  chub  /" — 
and  there  are  black  figures  struggling  up  there  at  the  bowsprit, 
but  vaguely  seen  against  the  blackness  of  the  sky  and  the  sea. 
Then,  in  a  second  or  two,  there  is  a  fiercer  rattle  than  ever; 
the  anchor  is  away  with  a  roar.  Some  further  chain  is  paid 
out ;  then  a  strange  silence  ensues ;  we  are  anchored  in  Ulva's 
Sound. 

Come  down  into  the  cabin,  then,  you  women -folk,  and  dry 
your  streaming  faces,  and  arrange  your  dishevelled  hair.  Is  not 
this  a  wonderful  stillness  and  silence,  after  the  whirl  and  roar  of 


156  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

the  storm  outside?     But  then  you  must  know  that  the  waters 
are  smooth  in  here,  and  the  winds  become  gentle — as  gentle  as 
the  name  of  the  island  that  is  close  to  us  now  in  the  dark.     It  yA 
is  a  ffreen-shored  island :  the  sailors  call  it  Ool-a-va. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

chasing  seals. 

Next  morning  found  the  Laird  in  a  most  excellent  humor. 
All  was  going  well.  Though  nothing  had  been  said  or  promised 
by  the  Youth,  was  not  his  coming  away  with  us  into  these  re- 
mote solitudes — to  say  nothing  of  the  very  pleasant  manner  in 
which  he  sought  to  entertain  Miss  Mary  Avon — sufficient  evi- 
dence that  he  had  at  least  no  great  repugnance  to  Ms  uncle's 
scheme?  The  Laird  was  disposed  to  chuckle  privately  over  the 
anxiety  that  Mary  displayed  about  her  work.  The  poor  young 
thing:  she  did  not  understand  what  higher  powers  were  ordering 
her  future  for  her. 

"Let  her  work  on,"  the  Laird  said,  in  great  confidence,  to  his 
hostess;  and  there  was  a  fine  secret  humor  in  his  eyes.  "Ay, 
ay,  let  her  work  on ;  hard  work  never  harmed  anybody.  And 
if  she  brings  her  bit  mailin  to  the  marriage — ye  would  call  it  her 
dowry  in  the  South — in  the  shape  of  a  bundle  of  pictures,  just 
as  a  young  Scotch  lass  brings  a  chest  of  drawers  or  a  set  of 
napery,  she  will  not  be  empty-handed.  She  can  hang  them  np 
herself  at  Denny-mains." 

"You  are  looking  too  far  ahead,  sir,"  says  Queen  T ,  with 

a  quiet  smile. 

"  Maybe — maybe,"  says  the  Laird,  rubbing  his  hands  Avith  a 
certain  proud  satisfaction.  We'll  sec  who's  right — we  will  see 
who  is  right,  ma'am." 

Then,  at  breakfast,  he  was  merry,  complaisant,  philosophical 
in  turns.  He  told  us  that  the  last  vidimus  of  the  affairs  of  the 
Burgh  of  Strathgovan  was  most  satisfactory :  assets  about 
£35,000;  liabilities  not  over  £20,000;  there  was  thus  an  esti- 
mated surplus  of  no  less  than  £15,000.  AVhy,  then,  he  asked, 
should  certain  poor  creatures  on  the  Finance  Committee  make 
such  a  work  about  the  merest  trifles?     Life  was  not  given  to 


CHASING    SEALS.  157 

man  that  he  should  worry  himself  into  a  rage  about  a  penny- 
farthing. 

"There  is  a  great  dale  of  right-down  common-sense,  ma'am," 
said  he,  "  in  that  verse  that  was  written  by  my  countryman,  Wel- 
liam  Dunbaur : 

" '  Be  merry,  man,  and  tak  not  sair  in  mind 

The  wavering  of  this  v/retched  world  of  sorrow ; 
To  God  be  humble,  to  thy  friend  be  kind. 

And  with  thy  neighbors  gladly  lend  and  borrow ; 
His  chance  to-night,  it  may  be  thine  to-morrow ; 

Be  blythe  in  heart  for  any  aventure. 
For  oft  with  wise  men  it  has  been  said  aforow, 

Without  Gladnesse  availeth  no  Treasure.'  " 

But  we,  who  were  in  the  secret,  knew  that  this  quotation  had 
nothing  in  the  world  to  do  with  the  Finance  Committee  of  Strath- 
govan.  The  Laird  had  been  comforting  himself  with  these  lines. 
They  were  a  sort  of  philosophico-poetical  justification  of  himself 
to  himself  for  his  readiness  to  make  these  two  young  people 
happy  by  giving  up  to  them  Denny-mains. 

And  no  doubt  he  was  still  chuckling  over  the  simplicity  of 
this  poor  girl,  when,  after  breakfast,  he  found  her  busily  engaged 
in  getting  her  painting  materials  on  deck. 

"Beautiful  —  beautiful!"  said  he,  glancing  around.  "Ye  will 
make  a  fine  picture  out  of  those  mountains,  and  the  mist,  and 
the  still  sea.  What  an  extraordinary  quiet  after  last  night's 
rain  !" 

And  perhaps  he  was  thinking  how  well  this  picture  would  look 
in  the  dining-room  at  Denny-mains ;  and  how  a  certain  young 
hostess — no  longer  pale  and  fragile,  but  robust  and  sun-browned 
with  much  driving  in  a  pony-carriage — would  take  her  friends 
to  the  picture,  and  show  them  Ulva,  and  Loch-na-Keal,  and  Ben- 
More  ;  and  tell  them  how  this  strange,  quiet  beauty  had  followed 
on  a  wild  night  of  storm  and  rain.  The  world  around  us  was  at 
this  moment  so  quiet  that  we  could  hear  the  twittering  of  some 
small  bird  among  the  rocks  in  there  at  the  shore.  And  the 
pale,  wan,  dream-like  sea  was  so  perfect  a  mirror  that  an  abso- 
lutely double  picture  was  produced  —  of  the  gloomy  mountain 
masses  of  Ben-More,  amidst  silver  gleams  of  cloud  and  motion- 
less wreaths  of  mist ;  of  the  basaltic  pillars  of  the  coast  nearer 
at  hand  —  a  pale  reddish -brown,  with  here  and  there  a  scant 

8 


158  WHITE    wings:     a    VACHTINa    ROMANCE. 

sprinkling  of  gi-ass;  of  that  broad  belt  of  rich  orange  -  yellow 
sea-weed  that  ran  all  along  the  rocks,  marking  the  junction  of 
the  Avorld  of  the  land  with  the  water -world  below.  An  abso- 
lutely perfect  mirror,  except  when  some  fish  splashed,  then  the 
small  circles  widened  out  and  gradually  disappeared,  and  the 
surface  was  as  glassy  as  before. 

The  Laird  was  generous.  He  would  leave  the  artist  undis- 
turbed at  her  work.  Would  not  his  nephew  be  better  amused 
if  a  bachelor  expedition  were  fitted  out  to  go  in  search  of  the 
seals  that  abound  in  the  channels  around  Inch  Kenneth?  Our 
hostess  declined  to  go,  but  provided  us  with  an  ample  lunch. 
The  gig  was  lowered,  and  everything  ready  for  the  start. 

"  Bring  your  shot-gun  too,  Howard,"  said  the  Laird.  "  I  want 
ye  to  shoot  some  skarts.  I  am  told  the  breasts  of  them  are 
very  close  and  fine  in  the  feathers ;  and  I  would  like  a  mufE  or  a 
bag  made  of  them  for  a  leddy — for  a  young  leddy." 

Mar}'^  Avon  was  busy  with  her  work :  how  could  she  hear  ? 

"And  if  the  skin  of  the  seals  about  here  is  not  very  fine,  we 
will  make  something  of  it.  Oh,  ay,  we  will  make  something  of 
it  in  the  way  of  a  present.  I  know  a  man  in  Glasgow  who  is 
extraordinary  clever  at  such  things." 

"  We  have  first  to  get  the  seal,  uncle,"  said  his  nephew,  laugh- 
ing. "  I  know  any  number  of  men  who  assure  you  they  have 
shot  seals ;  but  not  quite  so  many  who  have  got  the  seals  that 
were  shot." 

"  Oh,  but  we'll  get  the  seal,  and  the  skarts  too,"  said  the  Laird; 
and  then  he  added,  grimly  :  "  Man,  if  ye  cannot  do  that,  what 
can  ye  do  ?     If  ye  cannot  shoot  well,  what  else  are  ye  fit  for  ?" 

"  I  really  don't  know,  uncle,"  the  Youth  confessed,  modestly, 
as  he  handed  down  his  rifie  into  the  gig.  "The  London  solici- 
tors are  a  blind  race.  If  they  only  knew  what  a  treasure  of 
learning  and  sound  judgment  they  might  have  for  the  asking, 
but  they  don't.  And  I  can't  get  any  of  the  Scotch  business 
you  were  talking  about,  because  my  name  doesn't  begin  with 
Mac." 

"  Well,  well,  we  must  wait  and  hope  for  the  best,"  said  the 
Laird,  cheerfully,  as  he  took  his  seat  in  the  stern  of  the  gig. 
"  We  are  not  likely  to  run  against  a  solicitor  in  the  Sound  of 
Ulva.  Sufficient  for  the  day.  As  I  was  saying,  there's  great 
common-sense  in  what  Welliam  Dunbaur  wrote : 


CHASING    SEALS.  159 

"  '  Be  blythc  in  heart  for  any  aventure, 
For  oft  with  wise  men  it  lias  been  said  aforow, 
Without  Gladuesse  availeth  no  Treasure.' 

— Bless  me,  look  at  that !" 

This  sudden  exclamation  sent  all  eyes  to  the  shore.  A  large 
heron,  startled  by  the  rattling  of  the  oars,  had  risen,  with  a  sharp 
and  loud  croak  of  alarm,  from  among  the  sea-weed,  his  legs  hang- 
ing down,  his  long  neck  and  wings  and  body  apparently  a  gray- 
white  against  the  shadow  of  the  basaltic  rocks.  Then,  lazily  flap- 
ping, he  rose  higher  and  higher;  he  tucked  up  his  legs;  the 
great  wings  went  somewhat  more  swiftly ;  and  then,  getting 
above  the  low  cliffs,  and  appearing  quite  black  against  the  silver- 
clear  sky,  he  slowly  sailed  away. 

The  silence  of  this  dream -like  picture  around  us  was  soon 
broken.  As  the  men  pulled  away  from  the  yacht,  the  lonely 
shores  seemed  to  waken  up  into  life ;  and  there  were  whistlings, 
and  callings,  and  warnings  all  along  the  cliffs ;  while  the  startled 
sea-birds  whirred  by  in  flashes  of  color,  or  slowly  and  heavily  be- 
took themselves  to  some  farther  promontory.  And  now,  as  we 
passed  along  the  narrow  Sound,  and  saw  through  the  translucent 
water  the  wonder-land  of  sea-weed  below — with  the  patches  of 
clear  yellow  sand  intervening — we  appreciated  more  and  more 
highly  the  skill  of  John  of  Skye  in  getting  us  into  such  a  harbor 
on  the  previous  night.  It  is  not  every  one  who,  in  pitch  dark- 
ness and  in  the  midst  of  squalls,  can  run  a  yacht  into  the  neck 
of  a  bottle. 

We  emerged  from  the  narrow  channel,  and  got  out  into  the 
open ;  but  even  the  broad  waters  of  Loch-na-Keal  were  pale  and 
still :  the  reflection  of  Eorsa  was  scarcely  marred  by  a  ripple. 
The  long,  measured  throb  of  the  rowing  was  the  only  sound  of 
life  in  this  world  of  still  water  and  overhanging  cloud.  There 
was  no  stroke-oar  now  to  give  the  chorus, 

"A  long  strong  pull  together — 
Ho,  ro,  clansmen !" 

but  still  we  made  good  way.  As  we  got  farther  out,  wo  came  in 
sight  of  Colonsay;  and  farther  off  still,  Staffa,  lying  like  a  dark 
cloud  on  the  gray  sea.  Inch  Kenneth,  for  which  we  were  mak- 
ing, seemed  almost  black,  although  among  the  mists  that  lay 
along  the  Gribun  and  Bourg  cliffs  there  was  a  dull  silver-yellow 


160  WHITE  wings:   a  yachting  romance. 

light,  as  thougli  some  sunlight  had  got  mixed  up  with  the 
clouds. 

"  No,  no,"  the  Laird  was  saying,  as  he  studied  a  scrap  of  pa- 
per, "  it  is  not  a  great  property  to  admeenister ;  but  I  am  strong 
in  favor  of  local  management.  After  reading  that  book  on  Lon- 
don, and  its  catalogue  of  the  enormous  properties  there,  our  little 
bit  Burgh  appears  to  be  only  a  toy;  but  the  principle  of  sound 
and  energetic  self-government  is  the  same.  And  yet  it  is  no  so 
small,  mind  ye.  The  Burgh  buildings  are  estimated  at  nineteen 
thousand  pounds  odd ;  the  furniture  at  twelve  hunderd  pounds ; 
lamps  near  on  two  thousand  five  hunderd ;  sewers  nine  thousand 
pounds  odd ;  and  then  debts  not  far  from  three  thousand  pounds 
— that  makes  our  assets  just  about  thirty-five  thousand.  And  if 
the  water-pipes  in  some  places  are  rather  too  small  for  the  steam 
fire-engine,  we  maun  have  them  bigger.  It  was  quite  rideeculous 
that  a  thriving  place  like  Strathgovan,  when  there  was  a  big  fire, 
should  have  to  run  to  Glesca  for  help.  No,  no ;  I  believe  in 
independence ;  and  if  ye  should  ever  live  in  our  neighborhood, 
Howard,  I  hope  ye  will  stand  out  against  the  policy  of  annexa- 
tion. It  is  only  a  lot  o'  Radical  bodies  that  are  for  upsetting  in- 
stitutions that  have  been  tried  by  time  and  not  found  wanting." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  sir,"  Howard  Smith  said,  blithely.  "  When 
you  educate  people  to  take  an  interest  in  small  parochial  matters, 
they  are  better  fitted  to  give  an  opinion  about  the  general  affairs 
of  the  country." 

"Small?"  said  the  Laird,  eying  him  severely.  "They  are  of 
as  much  importance  as  human  life ;  is  there  anything  of  greater 
importance  in  the  world?  By  abolisliin'  the  Bigginsburn  nui- 
sance, and  insisting  on  greater  cleanliness  and  ventilation,  we  have 
reduced  the  number  of  deaths  from  infectious  diseases  in  a  most 
extraordinar'  manner;  and  there  will  be  no  more  fear  of  acci- 
dents in  the  Mitherdrnm  Road,  for  we  are  going  to  have  a  con- 
tcenuous  line  of  lamps  that  '11  go  right  in  to  the  Glesca  lamps. 
I  do  not  call  these  small  matters.  As  for  the  asphalting  of  the 
pavement  in  front  of  John  Anderson's  line  of  houses,"  continued 
the  Laird,  as  he  consulted  the  memorandum  in  his  hand,  "  that  is 
a  small  matter,  if  ye  like.  I  am  not  disposed  to  pronounce  an 
opinion  on  that  matter;  they  can  settle  it  without  my  voice. 
But  it  will  make  a  great  difference  to  John  Anderson :  and  I 
would  like  to  see  him  come  forward  with  a  bigger  subscription 


CHASING    SEALS.  161 

for  the  new  Park.  Well,  well ;  we  must  fight  through  as  best 
we  can." 

It  was  here  suggested  to  the  Laird  that  he  should  not  let  these 
weighty  matters  trouble  him  while  he  is  away  on  a  holiday. 

"Trouble  me?"  said  he,  lightly.  "Not  a  bit,  man!  People 
who  have  to  meddle  in  public  affairs  must  learn  how  to  throw 
off  their  cares.  I  am  not  troubled.  I  am  going  to  give  the  men 
a  dram,  for  better  pulling  I  never  saw  in  a  boat !" 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word,  too.  He  had  the  luncheon  bas- 
ket handed  down  from  the  bow^ ;  he  got  out  the  whiskey  bottle ; 
there  was  a  glass  filled  out  for  each  of  the  men,  which  was  drunk 
in  solemn  silence. 

"  Now,  boys,"  said  he,  as  they  took  their  oars  again,  "  haven't 
ye  got  a  song  or  a  chorus  to  make  the  rowing  easy  ?" 

But  they  were  too  shy  for  a  bit.  Presently,  however,  we  heard 
at  the  bow  a  low,  plaintive,  querulous  voice,  and  the  very  oars 
seemed  to  recognize  the  air  as  they  gripped  the  water.  Then 
there  was  a  hum  of  a  chorus — not  very  musical — and  it  was  in 
the  Gaelic ;  but  we  knew  what  the  refrain  meant. 

"0  boatman,  a  farewell  to  you, 
0  boatman,  a  farewell  to  you, 
Wherever  you  may  be  going." 

That  is  something  like  the  English  of  it :  we  had  heard  the  "  Fhir 
a  bhata  "  in  other  days. 

The  long,  heavy  pull  is  nearly  over.  Here  are  the  low-lying 
reefs  of  rock  outside  Inch  Kenneth ;  not  a  whisper  is  permissible 
as  we  creep  into  the  nearest  bay.  And  then  the  men  and  the 
boat  are  left  there;  and  the  Youth  —  perhaps  dimly  conscious 
that  his  uncle  means  the  seal-skin  for  Mary  Avon — grasps  his 
rifle,  and  steals  away  over  the  undulating  shelves  of  rock,  while 
his  two  companions,  with  more  leisure  but  with  not  less  circum- 
spection, follow  to  observe  his  operations.  Fortunately  there  is 
no  screaming  sea-pyot  or  whistling  curlew  to  give  warning; 
stealthily,  almost  bent  in  two,  occasionally  crawling  on  all  fours, 
he  makes  his  way  along  the  crannies  in  the  reef,  until,  as  we  see, 
he  must  be  nearly  approaching  the  channel  on  his  left.  There 
he  pauses  to  take  breath.  He  creeps  behind  a  rock,  and  cau- 
tiously looks  over.     He  continues  his  progress. 

"  This  is  terrible  woark !"  says  the  Laird,  in  a  stage-whisper,  as 


162  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

he  too — with  a  much  heavier  bulk  to  carry — worms  along.  From 
time  to  time  he  has  to  stay  to  apply  his  handkerchief  to  his 
forehead ;  it  is  hot  work  on  this  still,  breathless  day. 

And  at  last  we,  too,  get  down  to  the  edge  of  a  channel — some 
hundred  yards  lower  than  Howard  Smith's  post — and  from  be- 
hind a  rock  we  have  a  pretty  clear  view  of  the  scene  of  opera- 
tions. Apparently  there  is  no  sign  of  any  living  thing,  except 
that  a  big  fish  leaped  into  the  air  some  dozen  yards  off.  There- 
after a  dead  silence. 

After  waiting  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  so,  the  Laird  seem- 
ed to  become  violently  excited,  though  he  would  neither  budge 
nor  speak.  And  there,  between  two  islands  right  opposite  young 
Smith,  appeared  two  shining  black  heads  on  the  still  water,  and 
they  were  evidently  coming  down  this  very  channel.  On  they 
came — turning  about  one  way  and  another,  as  if  to  look  that  the 
coast  was  clear.  Every  moment  we  expected  to  hear  the  crack 
of  the  rifle.     Then  the  heads  silently  disappeared. 

The  Laird  was  beside  himself  with  disappointment. 

"Why  did  he  no  shoot?  Why  did  he  no  shoot?"  he  said,  in 
an  excited  whisper. 

He  had  scarcely  spoken  when  he  was  startled  by  an  apparition. 
Eight  opposite  to  him — not  more  than  twenty  yards  off — a  black 
thing  appeared  on  the  water,  with  a  glistening,  smooth  head,  and 
large,  soft  eyes.  Then  another.  We  dared  not  move.  We  wait- 
ed for  the  whistle  of  the  rifle-bullet.  The  next  instant  the  first 
seal  caught  sight  of  the  Laird,  raised  its  head  for  an  instant  at 
least  six  inches  higher,  then  silently  plunged  along  with  its  com- 
panion.    They  were  gone,  at  all  events. 

The  Youth  came  marching  along  the  rocks,  his  rifle  over  his 
shoulder. 

"Why  didn't  you  fire?"  his  uncle  said,  almost  angrily. 

"  I  thought  they  were  coming  nearer,"  said  he.  "  I  was  just 
about  to  fire  when  they  dived.  Mind,  it  isn't  very  easy  to  get 
on  to  a  thing  that  is  bobbing  about  like  that,  with  a  rifle.  I  pro- 
pose we  have  luncheon  now,  until  the  tide  ebbs  a  bit ;  then  there 
may  be  a  chance  of  catching  one  lying  on  the  rocks.  That  is 
the  proper  time  for  getting  a  shot  at  a  seal." 

We  had  luncheon:  there  was  no  difliculty  about  securing  that. 
But  as  for  getting  at  the  seals — whether  we  crawled  over  the 
rocks,  or  lay  in  hiding,  or  allowed  the  boat  to  drift  toward  some 


CHASINO    SEALS.  163 

island,  on  the  chance  of  one  of  them  rising  in  our  neighborhood 
— it  was  no  use  at  all.  There  were  plenty  of  seals  about:  a  snap 
shot  now  and  again  served  to  break  the  monotony  of  the  day  ; 
but  that  present  for  Mary  Avon  seemed  as  remote  as  ever.  And 
■when  one  is  determined  on  shooting  a  seal,  one  is  not  likely  to 
waste  one's  attention  and  cartridges  on  such  inferior  animals  as 
skirts. 

The  silver-gray  day  became  more  golden ;  there  was  a  touch 
of  warm  purple  about  the  shadows  of  Staffa. 

"  Come,"  said  the  Laird,  at  last.  "  We  must  go  back.  It  is 
no  use.  I  have  often  heard  people  say  that  if  you  miss  the  first 
chance  at  a  seal,  it  never  gives  ye  another." 

"  Better  luck  next  time,  uncle,"  said  the  Youth ;  but  his  uncle 
refused  to  be  comforted. 

And  the  first  thing  he  said  to  Mary  Avon  when  he  got  back  to 
the  yacht  was, 

"  We  have  not  got  it !" 

"  Got  what  ?"  said  she. 

"  The  seal-skin  I  wanted  to  have  dressed  for  ye.  No,  nor  the 
skarts  I  wanted  to  have  made  into  a  muff  or  a  bag  for  ye." 

"  Oh,"  said  she,  promptly,  "  I  am  very  glad.  I  hope  you  won't 
shoot  any  of  those  poor  things  on  my  account ;  I  should  be  very 
sorry  indeed." 

The  Laird  took  this  as  one  of  the  familiar  protestations  on  the 
part  of  women,  who  wouldn't  for  the  world  have  poor  things 
shot,  but  who  don't  object  to  wearing  any  amount  of  furs  and 
feathers,  to  say  nothing  of  having  innocent  sheep  sheared  and 
harmless  silk -worms  robbed  in  order  to  deck  themselves  out. 
She  should  have  that  dressed  seal-skin,  and  that  muff  of  skarts' 
breasts,  all  the  same. 

Nothing  of  stupendous  importance  happened  that  evening  ex- 
cept that — after  we  had  caught  three  dozen  of  good-sized  lithe,  and 
returned  to  the  yacht  with  this  welcome  addition  to  our  stores — 
there  was  a  general  discussion  of  our  plans  for  the  next  few  days. 
And  our  gentle  hostess  was  obviously  looking  forward  to  Angus 
Sutherland's  coming  back  to  us  with  great  pleasure ;  and  we 
were  to  make  our  return  to  suit  his  convenience ;  and  she  would 
write  to  him  whenever  we  got  near  a  post-office  again. 

Mary  Avon  had  sat  silent  during  all  this.  At  last  she  said,  ap- 
parently with  some  effort,  and  yet  very  deliberately : 

8* 


164  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

"  I — I  tbink  you  are  a  little  cruel  to  Dr.  Sutherland.  You  are 
forcing  him  to  come  with  you  against  his  better  judgment ;  for 
you  know,  with  his  prospects,  and  the  calls  on  his  time,  he  can- 
not afford  such  long  idleness.     Do  you  thing  it  is  quite  fair  ?" 

The  women  stared  at  this  girl,  who  spoke  with  some  earnest- 
ness, though  her  eyes  were  downcast. 

"  He  would  do  anything  to  please  you,"  Mary  Avon  continued, 
as  if  she  were  determined  to  get  through  with  some  speech  that 
she  had  prepared,  "  and  he  is  very  fond  of  sailing ;  but  do  you 
think  you  should  allow  him  to  injure  his  prospects  in  this  way  ? 
Wouldn't  it  be  a  greater  kindness  to  write  and  say  that,  if  he 
really  feels  he  ought  to  return  to  London,  you  would  not  hold 
him  to  his  promise?  I  am  sure  he  would  not  be  offended;  he 
would  understand  you  at  once.  And  I  am  sure  he  would  do 
what  is  clearly  right :  he  would  go  straight  back  to  London,  and 
I'esume  his  work — for  his  own  sake  and  for  the  sake  of  those 
who  count  on  a  great  future  for  him.  I,  for  one,  should  be  very 
sorry  to  see  him  come  back  to  idle  away  his  time  in  sailing." 

And  still  Queen  Tita  stared  at  the  girl — though  their  eyes  did 
not  meet.  And  she  could  scarcely  believe  that  it  was  Mary  Avon 
who  had  counselled  this  cold  dismissal. 


CHAPTER  XXH. 

"  UNCERTAIN,  COY,  AND    HARD    TO    PLEASE." 

There  are  two  people  walking  up  and  down  the  deck  this 
beautiful  morning :  the  lazy  ones  are  still  below,  dawdling  over 
breakfast.  And  now  young  Smith,  though  he  is  not  nmch  more 
than  an  acquaintance,  talks  quite  confidentially  to  his  hostess. 
She  has  bis  secret ;  he  looks  to  her  for  aid.  And  when  they  do 
have  a  quiet  moment  like  this  together,  there  is  usually  but  one 
person  of  whom  they  speak. 

"I  must  say  she  has  an  extraordinary  spirit,"  he  observes,  with 
some  decision.-  "  Why,  I  believe  she  is  rather  pleased  than  oth- 
erwise to  have  lost  that  money.  She  is  not  a  bit  afraid  of  going 
up  to  London  to  support  lierself  by  her  work.  It  seems  to 
amuse  her,  on  the  whole." 

*'  Mary  has  plenty  of  courage,"  says  the  other,  quietly. 


"uncertain,  cov,  and  hard  to  please."  165 

"  I  don't  wonder  at  my  uncle  being  so  fond  of  lier :  lie  likes 
her  independent  ways  and  her  good-humor.  I  shouldn't  be  sur- 
prised if  he  were  to  adopt  her  as  his  daughter,  and  cut  me  out. 
There  would  be  some  sense  in  that." 

"  I  am  glad  you  take  it  so  coolly,"  says  our  governor-general, 
in  a  matter-of-fact  way  that  rather  startles  him.  "  More  unlikely 
things  have  happened." 

But  he  recovers  himself  directly. 

"  No,  no,"  says  he,  laughing.  "  There  is  one  objection.  She 
could  not  sit  on  any  of  the  parochial  boards  of  Strathgovan. 
Now  I  know  my  uncle  looks  forward  to  putting  me  on  the  Police 
Committee,  and  the  Lighting  Committee,  and  no  end  of  other 
committees.  By-the-way,  she  might  go  on  the  School  Board. 
Do  they  have  women  on  the  School  Boards  in  Scotland  ?" 

On  this  point  his  hostess  was  no  better  informed  than  himself. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  after  a  bit,  "  I  wouldn't  call  her  pretty,  you 
know ;  but  she  has  a  singularly  interesting  face." 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  so  ?"  says  the  other,  quite  innocently. 

"I  do,  indeed,"  answers  the  ingenuous  Youth.  "And  the 
more  you  see  of  her,  the  more  interesting  it  becomes.  You  seem 
to  get  so  well  acquainted  with  her  somehow ;  and — and  you  have 
a  sort  of  feeling  that  her  presence  is  sort  of  necessary." 

This  was  somewhat  vague,  but  he  made  another  wild  effort  to 
express  himself. 

"  What  I  mean  is — that — that  suppose  she  were  to  leave  the 
yacht,  wouldn't  the  saloon  look  quite  different  ?  And  wouldn't 
the  sailing  be  quite  different?  You  would  know  there  was  some- 
thing wanting." 

"  I  should,  indeed,"  is  the  emphatic  reply. 

"  I  never  knew  any  one,"  says  the  Youth,  warming  to  his  work 
of  thorough  explanation,  "about  whose  presence  you  seem  so 
conscious,  even  when  she  isn't  here — I  don't  mean  that  exactly : 
I  mean  that  at  this  moment  now  you  know  she  is  on  board  the 
yacht — and  it  would  be  quite  different  if  she  were  not.  I  sup- 
pose most  people  wouldn't  call  her  pretty.  There  is  nothing  of 
the  '  Book  of  Beauty '  about  her.  But  I  call  it  a  most  interesting 
face.  And  she  has  fine  eyes.  Anybody  must  admit  that.  They 
have  a  beautiful,  soft  expression  ;  and  they  can  laugh  even  when 
she  is  quite  silent — " 

"  My .  dear   Mr.  Smith,"  says   his  hostess,  suddenly  stopping 


166  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING     ROMANCE. 

short,  and  with  a  kind  of  serious  smile  on  her  face,  "  let  me  talk 
frankly  to  you.  You  acted  very  sensibly,  I  think,  in  coming  with 
us  to  humor  your  uncle.  He  will  come  to  see  that  this  scheme 
of  his  is  impracticable ;  and  in  the  mean  thne,  if  you  don't  mind 
the  discomfort  of  it,  you  have  a  holiday.  That  is  all  quite  well. 
But  pray  don't  think  it  necessary  that  you  should  argue  yourself 
into  falling  in  love  with  Mary.  I  am  not  in  her  confidence  on 
such  a  delicate  matter ;  but  one  has  eyes ;  and  I  think  I  might 
almost  safely  say  to  you  that,  even  if  you  persuaded  yourself  that 
Mary  would  make  an  excellent  wife,  and  be  presentable  to  your 
friends — I  say  even  if  you  succeeded  in  persuading  yourself — I 
am  afraid  you  would  only  have- thrown  that  labor  away.  Please 
don't  try  to  convince  yourself  that  you  ought  to  fall  in  love  with 
her." 

This  was  plain  speaking.  But  then  our  admiral-in-chief  was 
very  quickly  sensitive  where  Mary  Avon  was  concerned ;  and 
perhaps  she  did  not  quite  like  her  friend  being  spoken  of  as 
though  she  were  a  pill  that  had  to  be  swallowed.  Of  course  the 
Youth  instantly  disclaimed  any  intention  of  that  kind.  He  liad 
a  very  sincere  regard  for  the  girl,  so  far  as  he  had  seen  her ;  he 
was  not  persuading  himself;  he  was  only  saying  how  much  she 
improved  when  you  got  better  acquainted  with  her." 

"And  if,"  said  he,  with  just  a  touch  of  dignity  —  "if  Miss 
Avon  is — is — engaged — " 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  say  that,"  his  hostess  quickly  interposed.  "  Oh, 
cei'tainly  not.     It  was  only  a  guess  on  my  part — " 

" — or  likely  to  be  engaged,"  he  continued,  with  something  of 
the  same  reserve,  "  I  am  sure  I  am  very  glad  for  her  sake ;  and 
whoever  marries  her  ought  to  have  a  cheerful  home  and  a  pleas- 
ant companion." 

This  was  a  generous  sentiment ;  but  there  was  not  much  of  a 
"  wish-you-may-be-happy  "  air  about  the  young  man.  Moreover, 
where  was  the  relief  he  ought  to  liavc  experienced  on  hearing 
that  there  was  an  obstacle — or  likelihood  of  an  obstacle — to  the 
execution  of  his  uncle's  scheme  which  would  absolve  him  from 
responsibility  altogether  ? 

However,  the  subject  could  not  be  continued  just  then  ;  for  at 
this  moment  a  tightly-brushed  small  head,  and  a  narrow-brimmed 
felt  hat,  and  a  shapely  neck  surrounded  by  an  upstanding  collar 
and  bit  of  ribbon  of  navy  blue,  appeared  at  the  top  of  the  com- 


"uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please."  167 

panion,  and  Mary  Avon,  looking  up  with  her  black  eyes  full  of 
a  cheerful  friendliness,  said, 

"  Well,  John,  are  you  ready  to  start  yet  ?" 

And  the  great  brown-bearded  John  of  Skye,  looking  down  at 
this  small  Jack-in-the-box  with  a  smile  of  welcome  on  his  face,  said, 

"  Oh  yes,  mem,  when  the  breakfast  is  over." 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  blowing  outside,  then  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  mem  ;  but  there  is  a  good  breeze ;  and  maybe  there 

will  be  a  bit  of  a  rowl  from  the  Atlantic.    Will  Mr. himself 

be  for  going  now  ?" 

"Oh  yes,  certainly,"  she  says,  with  a  fine  assumption  of  au- 
thority. "  We  are  quite  ready  when  you  are  ready,  John ;  Fred 
will  have  the  things  oS  the  table  in  a  couple  of  minutes." 

"  Very  well,  mem,"  says  the  obedient  John  of  Skye,  going  for- 
ward to  get  the  men  up  to  the  windlass. 

Our  young  doctor  should  have  been  there  to  see  us  getting  un- 
der way.  The  Sound  of  Ulva  is  an  excellent  harbor  and  anchor- 
age when  you  are  once  in  it ;  but  getting  out  of  it,  unless  with 
both  wind  and  tide  in  your  favor,  is  very  like  trying  to  manoeuvre 
a  man-of-war  in  a  teacup.  But  we  had  long  ago  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  John  of  Skye  could  sail  the  White  Dove  through  a 
gas-pipe,  with  half  a  gale  dead  in  his  teeth ;  and  the  manner  in 
which  he  got  us  out  of  this  narrow  and  tortuous  channel  fully 
justified  our  confidence. 

"  Very  prettily  done.  Captain  John !"  said  the  Laird — who  was 
beginning  to  give  himself  airs  on  nautical  matters — when  we  had 
got  out  into  the  open. 

And  here,  as  we  soon  discovered,  was  the  brisk  fresh  breeze 
that  John  of  Skye  had  predicted;  and  the  running  swell,  too, 
that  came  sweeping  in  to  the  mouth  of  Loch-na-Keal.  Black  in- 
deed looked  that  far-reaching  loch  on  this  breezy,  changeful  morn- 
ing— as  dark  as  it  was  when  the  chief  of  Ulva's  isle  came  down 
to  the  shore  with  his  runaway  bride ;  and  all  along  Ben-More  and 
over  the  Gribun  cliffs  hung  heavy  masses  of  cloud,  dark  and 
threatening  as  if  with  thunder.  But  far  away  in  the  south  there 
was  a  more  cheerful  outlook,  the  windy  sea  shimmering  in  light, 
some  gleams  of  blue  in  the  sky :  we  knew  that  the  sunshine 
must  be  shining  on  the  green  clover  and  beautiful  sand  of  lona. 
The  White  Dove  seemed  to  understand  what  was  required  of  her. 
Her  head  was  set  for  the  gleaming  south,  her  white  wings  out- 


168  WHITE  wings:   a  yachting  romance. 

spread.  As  she  sprung  to  meet  those  rushing  seas,  we  knew  we 
were  escaping  from  the  thunder-darkness  that  lay  over  Loch-na- 
Keal. 

And  Ulva :  had  we  known  that  we  were  now  leaving  Ulva  be- 
hind us  for  the  last  time,  should  we  not  have  taken  another  look 
back,  even  though  it  now  lay  under  a  strange  and  mysterious 
gloom  ?  Perhaps  not.  We  had  grown  to  love  the  island  in  oth- 
er days.  And  when  one  shuts  one's  eyes  in  winter,  it  is  not  to 
see  an  Ulva  of  desolate  rocks  and  leaden  waves ;  it  is  a  fair  and 
shining  Ulva,  with  blue  seas  breaking  whitely  along  its  shores ; 
and  magical  still  channels,  with  mermaids'  halls  of  sea-weed;  and 
an  abundant,  interesting  life — all  manner  of  sea-birds,  black  rab- 
bits running  among  the  rocks,  seals  swimming  in  the  silent  bays. 
Then  the  patch  of  civilization  under  shelter  of  the  hills ;  the  yel- 
low corn-fields ;  the  dots  of  human  creatures,  and  the  red  and 
tawny-gray  cattle  visible  afar  in  the  meadow ;  the  solitary  house ; 
the  soft  foliage  of  trees  and  bushes ;  the  wild  flowers  along  the 
cliffs.  That  is  the  green-shored  island;  that  is  the  Ool-a-va  of 
the  sailors;  we  know  it  only  in  sunlight  and  among  blue  sum- 
mer seas  :  it  shines  for  us  forever ! 

The  people  who  go  yachting  are  a  fickle  folk.  The  scene 
changes — and  their  interests  change — every  few  minutes.  Now 
it  is  the  swooping  down  of  a  solan  ;  again  it  is  the  appearance  of 
another  island  far  away ;  presently  it  is  a  shout  of  laughter  for- 
ward, as  some  unlucky  wight  gets  drowned  in  a  shower  of  sea- 
spray  :  anything  catches  their  attention  for  the  moment.  And 
60  the  White  Dove  swings  along,  and  the  sea  gets  lieavier  and 
heavier,  and  we  watch  the  breakers  springing  high  over  the  black 
rocks  of  Colonsay.  It  is  the  Laird  who  is  now  instructing  onr 
now  guest,  pointing  out  to  him,  as  they  come  in  view,  Staffa,  the 
Dutchman,  Fladda,  and  Lnnga,  and  Carnburg.  Tiree  is  invisible 
at  the  horizon ;  there  is  too  wild  a  whirl  of  wind  and  water. 

The  gloom  behind  us  increases;  we  know  not  wliat  is  about 
to  happen  to  our  beloved  but  now  distant  Ulva — what  sudden 
rumble  of  thunder  is  about  to  startle  the  silence  of  the  dark  Loch- 
na-Keal.  But  ahead  of  us  the  south  is  still  shining  clear:  blow, 
winds,  that  we  may  gain  the  quiet  shelter  of  Polterriv  before  the 
evening  falls!  And  is  it  not  full-moon  to-night? — to-night  our 
new  guest  may  see  the  yellow  moon  shining  on  the  still  waters 
of lona  Sound. 


UNCERTAIN,   COY,   AND    HARD    TO    PLEASE."  169 

But  the  Immiliating  truth  must  be  told.  The  heavy  sea  has 
been  trying  to  one  unaccustomed  to  life  on  board.  Howard 
Smith,  though  answering  questions  well  enough,  and  even  join- 
ing voluntarily  in  conversation  occasionally,  wears  a  preoccupied 
air.  He  does  not  take  much  interest  in  the  caves  of  Bourg.  The 
bright  look  has  gone  from  his  face. 

His  gentle  hostess — who  has  herself  had  moments  of  gloom 
on  the  bosom  of  the  deep — recognizes  these  signs  instantly,  and. 
insists  on  immediate  luncheon.  There  is  a  double  reason  for 
this  haste.  We  can  now  ran  under  the  lee  of  the  Erisgeir  rocks, 
where  there  will  be  less  danger  to  Master  Fred's  plates  and  tum- 
blers. So  we  are  all  bundled  down  into  the  saloon ;  the  swell 
sensibly  subsides  as  we  get  to  leeward  of  Erisgeir;  there  is  a 
scramble  of  helping  and  handing;  and  another  explosion  in  the 
galley  tells  us  that  Master  Fred  has  not  yet  mastered  the  art  of 
releasing  effervescing  fluids.  Half  a  tumblerful  of  that  liquid  puts 
new  life  into  our  solemn  friend.  The  color  returns  to  his  face, 
and  brightness  to  his  eyes.  He  admits  that  he  was  beginning  to 
long  for  a  few  minutes  on  firm  land — but  now — but  now — he  is 
even  willing  to  join  us  in  an  excursion  that  has  been  talked  of  to 
the  far  Dubh  Artach  Light-house.* 

"  But  we  must  really  wait  for  Angus,"  our  hostess  says,  "  be- 
fore going  out  there.  He  was  always  so  anxious  to  go  to  Dubh 
Artach." 

"But  surely  you  won't  ask  him  to  come  away  from  his  duties 
again  ?"  Mary  Avon  puts  in,  hastily.  "  You  know  he  ought  to 
go  back  to  London  at  once." 

"I  know  I  have  written  him  a  letter,"  says  the  other,  demure- 
ly. "  You  can  read,  it  if  you  like,  Mary.  It  is  in  pencil,  for  I 
was  afraid  of  the  ink-bottle  going  waltzing  over  tlie  table." 

Miss  Avon  would  not  read  the  letter.  She  said  wc  must  be 
past  Erisgeir  by  this  time,  and  proposed  we  should  go  on  deck. 
This  we  did ;  and  the  Youth  was  now  so  comfortable  and  assured 
in  his  mind  that,  by  lying  full-length  on  the  deck,  close  to  the 
weather -bulwarks,  he  managed  to  light  a  cigar.  He  smoked 
there  in  much  content,  almost  safe  from  the  spray. 

*  Have  you  caught  any  sharks  yet,  Mr.  E ?     Many  a  time  we  looked 

at  the  little  spire  out  at  the  edge  of  the  world,  and  many  an  unheard  ines- 
Bage  we  sent  you ;  but  the  fates  were  not  propitious,  and  we  never  had  a 
chance  of  even  getting  near  enough  to  signal  you. 


170  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

Mary  Avon  was  seated  at  the  top  of  the  companion,  read- 
ing. Her  hostess  came  and  squeezed  herself  in  beside  her,  and 
put  her  arm  round  her. 

"  Mary,"  said  she,  "  why  don't  you  want  Angus  Sutherland  to 
come  back  to  the  yacht  ?" 

"  I  ?"  said  she,  in  great  surprise — though  she  did  not  meet  the 
look  of  the  elder  woman — "  I — I —  Don't  you  see  yourself  that 
he  ought  to  go  back  to  London  ?  How  can  he  look  after  that 
magazine  while  he  is  away  in  the  Highlands?  And — and  he  has 
so  much  to  look  forward  to — so  much  to  do — that  you  should 
not  encourage  him  in  making  light  of  his  work — " 

"  Making  light  of  his  work !"  said  the  other.  "  I  am  almost 
sure  that  you  yourself  told  him  that  he  deserved  and  required  a 
long — a  very  long — holiday." 

"  You  did,  certainly." 

"And  didn't  you  ?" 

The  young  lady  looked  rather  embarrassed. 

"When  you  saw  him,"  said  she,  with  flushed  cheeks,  "so 
greatly  enjoying  the  sailing — absorbed  in  it — and — and  gaining 
health  and  strength,  too  —  well,  of  course  you  naturally  wished 
that  he  should  come  back  and  go  away  with  you  again.  But  it 
is  different  on  reflection.     You  should  not  ask  him." 

"Why,  what  evil  is  likely  to  happen  to  him  through  taking 
another  six  weeks'  holiday  ?  Is  he  likely  to  fall  out  of  the  race 
of  life  because  of  a  sail  in  the  White  Dove?  And  doesn't  he 
know  his  own  business?     He  is  not  a  child." 

"  He  would  do  a  great  deal  to  please  you." 

"  I  want  him  to  please  himself,"  said  the  other.  And  she  add- 
ed, with  a  deadly  frown  gathering  on  her  forehead,  "And  I  won't 
have  you.  Miss  Dignity,  interfering  with  the  pleasures  of  my 
guests.  And  there  is  to  be  no  snubbing,  and  no  grim  looks,  and 
no  hints  about  work,  and  London,  and  other  nonsense,  when  An- 
gus Sutherland  comes  back  to  us.  You  shall  stand  by  the  gang- 
way— do  you  hear? — and  receive  him  with  a  smiling  face;  and 
if  you  arc  not  particularly  kind,  and  civil,  and  attentive  to  him, 
I'll  have  you  lashed  to  the  yard-arm  and  painted  blue — keel-haul 
me  if  I  don't !" 

Fairer  and  fairer  grew  the  scene  around  us  as  the  brave  White 
Dove  went  breasting  the  heavy  Atlantic  rollers.  Blue  and  white 
overhead ;  the  hot  sunlight  doing  its  best  to  dry  the  dripping 


"uncertain,  cov,  and  iiauu  to  please."  171 

rocks ;  lona  shining  there  over  tlie  smoother  waters  of  the 
Sound;  the  sea  breaking  white,  and  spouting  up  in  columns,  as 
it  daslied  against  the  pale  red  promontories  of  the  Ross  of  Mull. 
But  then  this  stiff  breeze  had  backed  to  the  west,  and  there  was 
many  a  long  tack  to  be  got  over  before  we  got  quit  of  the  At- 
lantic swell,  and  ran  clear  into  the  Sound.  The  evening  was 
drawing  on  apace  as  we  slowly  and  cautiously  steered  into  the 
little  creek  of  Polterriv.  No  sooner  had  the  anchor  rattled  out 
than  we  heard  the  clear  tinkling  of  Master  Fred's  bell.  How  on 
earth  had  he  managed  to  cook  dinner,  amidst  all  that  diving,  and 
rolling,  and  pitching? 

And  then,  as  Ave  had  hoped,  it  was  a  beautiful  evening;  and 
the  long  gig  was  got  out,  and  shawls  for  the  women-folk  flung 
into  the  stern.  The  fishing  did  not  claim  our  attention.  Famil- 
iar as  some  of  us  were  with  the  wonderful  twilights  of  the  North, 
which  of  us  had  ever  seen  anything  more  solemn,  and  still,  and 
lovely  than  these  colors  of  sea  and  shore?  Half -past  nine  at 
night  on  the  8th  of  August,  and  still  the  west  and  north  were 
Hushed  with  a  pale  rose-red,  behind  the  dark,  rich,  olive-green  of 
the  shadowed  lona.  But  what  was  that  to  the  magic  world  that 
lay  before  us  as  we  returned  to  the  yacht?  Now  the  moon  bad 
arisen,  and  it  seemed  to  be  of  a  clear,  lambent  gold;  and  the 
cloudless  heavens  and  the  still  sea  were  of  a  violet  hue — not  im- 
aginatively or  relatively,  but  positively  and  literally  violet.  Then 
between  the  violet-colored  sky  and  the  violet-colored  sea  a  long 
line  of  rock,  jet  black,  as  it  appeared  to  us.  That  was  all  the 
picture :  the  yellow  moon,  the  violet  sky,  the  violet  sea,  the  line 
of  black  rock.  No  doubt  it  was  the  intensity  of  the  shadows 
along  this  line  of  rock  that  gave  that  extraordinar}'  luminousness 
to  the  still  heavens  and  the  still  sea. 

When  we  got  back  to  the  yacht  a  telegram  awaited  us.  It 
had  been  sent  to  Bunessan,  the  nearest  telegraph  station;  but 
some  kind  friends  there,  recognizing  the  White  Dove  as  she  came 
along  by  Erisgeir,  and  shrewdly  concluding  that  we  must  pass 
the  night  at  Polterriv,  had  been  so  kind  as  to  forward  it  on  to 
Fionphort  by  a  messenger. 

"  I  thought  so,"  says  Queen  T ,  with  a  fine  delight  in  her 

face  as  she  reads  the  telegram.  "  It  is  from  Angus.  He  is  com- 
ing on  Thursday.  We  must  go  back  to  meet  him  at  Ballahulish 
or  Corpach," 


172  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

Then  the  discourtesy  of  this  remark  struck  her. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Smith,"  said  she,  instantly.  "  Of 
course  I  mean  if  it  is  quite  agreeable  to  you.  He  does  not  ex- 
pect us,  you  see ;  he  would  come  on  here — " 
-  "I  assure  you  I  would  as  soon  go  to  Ballahulish  as  anywhere 
else,"  says  the  Youth,  promptly.  "It  is  quite  the  same  to  me — 
it  is  all  new,  you  see,  and  all  equally  charming." 

Mary  Avon  alone  expressed  no  delight  at  this  prospect  of  our 
going  to  Ballahulish  to  meet  Angus  Sutherland ;  she  sat  silent ; 
her  eyes  were  thoughtful  and  distant;  it  was  not  of  anything 
around  her  that  she  was  thinking. 

The  moon  had  got  whiter  now ;  the  sea  and  the  sky  blue-black 
in  place  of  that  soft,  warm  violet  color.  We  sat  on  deck  till  a 
late  hour ;  the  world  was  asleep  around  us ;  not  a  sound  dis- 
turbed the  absolute  stillness  of  land  and  sea. 

And  where  was  the  voice  of  our  singing-bird?  Had  the  loss 
of  a  mere  sum  of  money  made  her  forget  all  about  Mary  Beaton, 
and  Mary  Seaton,  "  and  Mary  Carmichael,  and  me  ?"  Or  was  the 
midnight  silence  too  much  for  her ;  and  the  thought  of  the  dusky 
cathedral  over  there,  with  the  gravestones  pale  in  the  moon- 
light, and  all  around  a  whispering  of  the  lonely  sea?  She  had 
nothing  to  fear.  She  might  have  crossed  over  to  lona,  and 
might  have  walked  all  by  herself  through  the  ruins,  and  in  calm- 
ness regarded  the  sculptured  stones.     The  dead  sleep  sound. 


CHAPTER  XXHI. 

SECRET     SCHEMES. 


The  delight  with  which  Jolin  of  Skye  heard  that  his  friend 
Dr.  Sutherland  was  coming  back  to  the  yacht,  and  that  we 
were  now  setting  out  for  Ballahulish  or  Corpach  to  meet  liim, 
found  instant  and  practical  expression  on  this  fine,  breezy,  sunlit 


morninir. 


"  Hector,"  says  he,  "  we  will  put  the  gaff  top-sail  on  her." 
What  did  he  care  though  this  squally  breeze  came  blowing 
down  the  Sound  in  awkward  gusts  ? 

"  It  is  a  fine  wind,  mem,"  says  he  to  the  Admiral,  as  we  slowly 


SECRET    SCHEMES.  173 

leave  the  green  waters  and  the  pink  rocks  of  Polterriv,  and  get 
into  the  open  and  breezy  channel.  "  Oh,  we  will  niek  a  good 
run  the  day.  And  I  beg  your  pardon,  mein,  but  it  is  a  great 
pleasure  to  me  that  Mr.  Sutherland  himself  is  coming  back  to 
the  yat." 

"  He  understands  your  clever  sailing,  John  :  is  that  it  ?" 

"  He  knows  more  about  a  yat  as  any  chcntleman  I  will  ever 
see,  mem.  And  Ave  will  try  to  get  a  good  breeze  for  him  this 
time,  mem,  and  not  to  have  the  calm  weather." 

This  is  not  likely  to  be  a  day  of  calm  weather,  at  all  events. 
Tide  and  wind  together  take  us  away  swiftly  from  the  little  har- 
bor behind  the  granite  rocks.  And  is  lona  over  there  all  asleep? 
or  are  there  some  friends  in  the  small  village  watching  the  White 
Dove  bearing  away  to  the  south  ?  We  wave  our  handkerchiefs  on 
chance.  We  take  a  last  look  at  the  gabled  ruins  over  the  sea,  at 
the  green  cornfields,  and  the  scattered  houses,  and  the  beaches 
of  silver  sand.  Good-bye — good-bye !  It  is  a  last  look,  for  this 
summer  at  least ;  perhaps  it  is  a  last  look  forever.  But  lona  too 
— as  well  as  Ulva — remains  in  the  memory  a  vision  of  sunlight, 
and  smooth  seas,  and  summer  days. 

Harder  and  harder  blows  this  fresh  breeze  from  the  north ; 
and  we  are  racing  down  the  Sound  with  the  driven  waves.  But 
for  the  rope  round  the  tiller.  Miss  Avon,  who  is  steering,  would 
find  it  difficult  to  keep  her  feet ;  and  her  hair  is  blown  all  about 
her  face.  The  salt-water  comes  swishing  down  the  scuppers ;  the 
churned  foam  goes  hissing  and  boiling  away  from  the  sides  of 
the  vessel ;  the  broad  Atlantic  widens  out.  And  that  small  gray 
thing  at  the  horizon  ?  Can  that  speck  be  a  mass  of  masonry  a 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  in  height,  wedged  into  the  lonely  rock  ? 

"  No,  no,"  says  our  gentle  Queen  Titania,  with  an  involuntary 
shudder;  "not  for  worlds  would  I  climb  up  that  iron  ladder,  with 
the  sea  and  the  rocks  right  below  me.  I  should  never  get  half- 
way up." 

"They  will  put  a  rope  round  your  waist,  if  you  like,"  it  is 
pointed  out  to  her. 

"When  we  go  out,  then,"  says  this  coward,  "I  will  see  how 
Mary  gets  on.     If  she  does  not  die  of  fright,  I  may  venture." 

"  Oh,  but  I  don't  think  I  shall  be  with  you,"  remarks  the 
young  lady,  quite  simply. 

At  this  there  is  a  general  stare. 


174  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting   romance. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  says  her  hostess,  with  an 
ominous  curtuess. 

"  Wliy,  you  know,"  says  the  girl,  cheerfully — and  disengaging 
one  hand  to  get  her  hair  out  of  her  eyes — "  I  can't  afford  to  go 
idling  much  longer.     I  must  get  back  to  London." 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense  !"  says  the  other  woman,  angrily.  "  You 
may  try  to  stop  other  people's  holidays,  if  you  like,  but  I  am 
going  to  look  after  yours.  Holidays !  How  are  you  to  work, 
if  you  don't  work  now  ?  Will  you  find  many  landscapes  in  Re- 
gent Street  ?" 

"  I  have  a  great  many  sketches,"  says  Mary  Avon,  "  and  I  must 
try  to  make  something  out  of  them,  where  there  is  less  distrac- 
tion of  amusement.  And  really,  you  know,  you  have  so  many 
friends —  Would  you  like  me  to  become  a  fixture,  like  the  main- 
mast— " 

"  I  would  like  you  to  talk  a  little  common-sense !"  is  the  sharp 
reply.  "  You  are  not  going  back  to  London  till  the  White  Dove 
is  laid  up  for  the  winter — that  is  what  I  know." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  ask  you  to  let  me  off,"  she  says,  quite 
simply  and  seriously.  "Suppose  I  go  up  to  London  next  week? 
Then,  if  I  get  on  pretty  well,  I  may  come  back — " 

"  You  may  come  back !"  says  the  other,  with  a  fine  contempt. 
"Don't  try  to  impose  on  me.  I  am  an  older  woman  than  you; 
and  I  have  enough  provocations  and  worries  from  other  quarters: 
I  don't  want  you  to  begin  and  bother." 

"  Is  your  life  so  full  of  trouble  ?"  says  the  girl,  innocently. 
"  What  are  those  fearful  provocations  ?" 

"  Never  mind :  you  will  find  out  in  time.  But  when  you  get 
married,  Mary,  don't  forget  to  bny"a  copy  of  Doddridge  on  Pa- 
tience.    That  should  be  included  in  every  bridal  trousseau." 

"Poor  thing! — is  it  so  awfully  ill-used?"  replies  the  steersman, 
with  much  compassion. 

Here  John  of  Skye  comes  forward, 

"  If  ye  please,  mem,  I  will  tek  the  tiller  until  we  get  round  the 
Ross.     The  rocks  are  very  bad  here," 

"All  right,  John,"  says  the  young  lady;  and  then,  with  much 
cautious  clinging  to  various  objects,  she  goes  below,  saying  that 
she  means  to  do  a  little  more  to  a  certain  slight  water -color 
sketch  of  Polterriv.  We  know  why  she  wants  to  put  some 
further  work  on   that  hasty  production.     Yesterday   the  Laird 


SECRET    SCHEMES,  175 

expressed  high  approval  of  the  sketch.  She  means  him  to  take 
it  with  him  to  Denny-mains  when  she  leaves  for  London. 

But  this  heavy  sea  :  how  is  the  artist  getting  on  with  her 
work  amidst  such  pitching  and  diving  ?  Now  that  we  are 
round  the  Ross,  the  White  Dove  has  shifted  her  course  ;  the 
wind  is  more  on  lier  beam ;  the  main-sheet  has  been  hauled  in ; 
and  the  noble  ship  goes  ploughing  along  in  splendid  style ;  but 
how  about  water-color  drawing  ? 

Suddenly,  as  the  yacht  gives  a  heavy  lurch  to  leeward,  an  aw- 
ful sound  is  heard  below.      Queen  T clambers  down  the 

companion,  and  holds  on  by  the  door  of  the  saloon,  the  others 
followino:  and  lookino'  over  her  shoulders.  There  a  fearful  scene 
appears.  At  the  head  of  the  table,  in  the  regal  recess  usually 
occupied  by  the  carver  and  chief  president  of  our  banquets,  sits 
Mary  Avon,  in  mute  and  blank  despair.  Everything  has  dis- 
appeared from  before  her.  A  tumbler  rolls  backward  and  for- 
ward on  the  floor,  empty.  A  dishevelled  bundle  of  paper,  hang- 
ing on  to  the  edge  of  a  carpet  stool,  represents  what  was  once 
an  orderly  sketch-book.  Tubes,  pencils,  saucers,  sponges  —  all 
have  gone  with  the  table-cloth.  And  the  artist  sits  quite  hope- 
less and  silent,  staring  before  her  like  a  maniac  in  a  cell. 

"  What  ever  have  you  been  and  done  ?"  calls  her  hostess. 

There  is  no  answer :  only  that  tragic  despair. 

"  It  was  all  bad  steering,"  remarks  the  Youth.  "  I  knew  it 
■would  happen  as  soon  as  Miss  Avon  left  the  helm." 

But  the  Laird,  not  confining  his  sympathy  to  words,  presses 
by  his  hostess ;  and,  holding  hard  by  the  bare  table,  staggers 
along  to  the  scene  of  the  wreck.  The  others  timidly  follow. 
One  by  one  the  various  objects  are  rescued,  and  placed  for  safety 
on  the  couch  on  the  leeward  side  of  the  saloon.  Then  the  autom- 
aton in  the  presidential  chair  begins  to  move.  She  recovers  her 
powers  of  speech.     She  says,  awaking  from  her  dream, 

"  Is  my  head  on  ?" 

"And  if  it  is,  it  is  not  of  much  use  to  you,"  says  her  hostess, 
angrily.  "  What  ever  made  you  have  those  things  out  in  a  sea 
like  this  ?  Come  up  on  deck  at  once  ;  and  let  Fred  get  luncheon 
ready." 

The  maniac  only  laughs, 

'*  Luncheon !"  she  says,  "  Luncheon  in  the  middle  of  earth- 
quakes 1" 


1V6  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

But  tbis  sneer  at  the  White  Dove,  because  she  has  no  svving- 
ino-table,  is  ungenerous.  Besides,  is  not  our  Friedrich  d'or  able 
to  battle  any  pitching  with  his  ingeniously  bolstered  couch,  so 
that  bottles,  glasses,  plates,  and  what  not  arc  as  safe  as  they 
would  be  in  a  case  in  the  British  Museum  ?  A  luncheon-party 
on  board  the  White  Dove,  Avhen  there  is  a  heavy  Atlantic  swell 
running,  is  not  an  imposing  ceremony.  It  would  not  look  well 
as  a  colored  lithograph  in  the  illustrated  papers.  The  figures 
crouching  on  the  low  stools  to  leeward ;  the  narrow  cushion 
bolstered  up  so  that  the  most  enterprising  of  dishes  cannot 
slide;  the  table-cover  plaited  so  as  to  aflford  receptacles  for 
knives  and  spoons ;  bottles  and  tumblers  plunged  into  hollows, 
and  propped ;  Master  Fred,  balancing  himself  behind  these  stoop- 
ing figures,  bottle  in  hand,  and  ready  to  replenish  any  cautiously- 
proffered  wineglass.  But  it  serves.  And  Dr.  Sutherland  has  as- 
sured us  that  the  heavier  the  sea,  the  more  necessary  is  luncheon 
for  the  Aveaker  vessels,  who  may  be  timid  about  the  effect  of  so 
much  rolling  and  pitching.  When  we  get  on  deck  again,  who 
is  afraid  ?  It  is  all  a  question  as  to  what  signal  may  be  visible 
to  the  white  house  of  Carsaig,  shining  afar  there  in  the  sunlight, 
among  the  hanging  woods,  and  under  the  soft  purple  of  the  hills. 
Behold  !  behold  !  the  flag  run  up  to  the  top  of  the  white  pole  1 
Is  it  a  message  to  us,  or  only  a  summons  to  the  Pioneer?  For 
now,  through  the  whirl  of  wind  and  spray,  we  can  make  out  the 
steamer  that  daily  encircles  Mull,  bringing  with  it  white  loaves, 
and  newspapers,  and  other  luxuries  of  the  main-land. 

She  comes  nearer  and  nearer  ;  the  throbbing  of  the  paddles  is 
heard  among  the  rush  of  the  waves  ;  the  people  crowd  to  the  side 
of  the  boat  to  have  a  look  at  the  passing  yacht ;  and  one  well- 
known  figure,  standing  on  the  hurricane  deck,  raises  his  gilt-braid- 
ed cap,  for  we  happen  to  have  on  board  a  gentle,  small  creature 
who  is  a  great  friend  of  his.*  And  she  waves  her  white  hand- 
kerchief, of  course ;  and  you  should  see  what  a  fluttering  of  simi- 
lar tokens  there  is  all  along  the  steamer's  decks,  and  on  the  pad- 
dle-boxes. Farewell ! — farewell  ! — may  you  have  a  smooth  land- 
ing at  Staffa,  and  a  pleasant  sail  down  the  Sound,  in  the  quiet  of 
the  afternoon  ! 

*  Sir,  wc  would  drink  your  health,  but  not  even  Friedrich  d'or  himself  could 
hold  a  glass  straight  in  this  heavy  sea. 


SECRET    SCHEMES.  177 

The  day  wears  on,  with  puffs  and  squalls  coming  tearing  over 
from  the  high  cliffs  of  southern  Mull ;  and  still  the  gallant  White 
Dove  meets  and  breasts  tliose  rolling  waves,  and  sends  the  spray 
Hying  from  her  bows.  We  have  passed  Loch  Buy  ;  Garveloch 
and  the  adjacent  islands  are  drawing  nearer  ;  soon  we  shall  have 
to  bend  our  course  northward,  when  we  have  got  by  Eilean-straid- 
ean.  And  whether  it  is  that  Mary  Avon  is  secretly  comforting 
herself  with  the  notion  that  she  will  soon  see  her  friends  in  Lon- 
don again,  or  whether  it  is  that  she  is  proud  of  being  again  pro- 
moted to  the  tiller,  she  has  quite  recovered  her  spirits.  Wc  hear 
our  singing-bird  once  more,  though  it  is  difficult,  amidst  the  rush 
and  swirl  of  the  waters,  to  do  more  than  catch  chance  phrases  and 
refrains.  And  then  she  is  being  very  merry  with  the  Laird,  who 
is  humorously  decrying  England  and  the  English,  and  proving  to 
her  that  it  is  the  Scotch  migration  to  the  South  that  is  the  very 
saving  of  her  native  country. 

"  The  Lord  Chief-justice  of  England,  the  Archbishop  of  Can- 
terbury, the  President  of  the  Royal  Academy — the  heads  and 
leading  men  everywhere — all  Scotch — all  Scotch,"  says  he. 

"  But  the  weak  point  about  the  Scotch,  sir,"  says  this  philoso- 
pher in  the  Ulster,  who  is  clinging  on  to  the  tiller-rope, "  is  their 
modesty.  They  are  so  distrustful  of  their  own  merits.  And 
they  are  always  running  down  their  own  country." 

"Ha!  ha! — ho!  ho!  ho!"  roars  the  Laird.  "Yerra  good! 
verra  good  !  I  owe  ye  one  for  that — I  owe  ye  one !  Herbert, 
have  ye  nothing  to  say  in  defence  of  your  native  country  ?" 

"  You  are  speaking  of  Scotland,  sir?" 

"Ay." 

"  That  is  not  my  native  country,  you  know." 

"  It  was  your  mother's,  then." 

Somehow,  when  by  some  accident — and  it  but  rarely  happened 
— the  Laird  mentioned  Howard  Smith's  mother,  a  brief  silence 
fell  on  him.  It  lasted  but  a  second  or  two.  Presently  he  was 
saying,  with  much  cheerfulness  : 

"  No,  no,  I  am  not  one  of  those  that  would  promote  any  rivalry 
between  Scotland  and  England.  AVe  are  one  country  now.  If 
the  Scotch  preserve  the  best  leeterary  English — the  most  pithy 
and  characteristic  forms  of  the  language  —  the  English  that  is 
talked  in  the  South  is  the  most  generally  received  throughout  the 
world.     I  have  even  gone  the  length — I'm  no  ashamed  to  admit 


178  WHITE    TVINGS:     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

it — of  hinting  to  Tom  Galbraith  that  he  should  exheebit  more  in 
London  :  the  influence  of  such  work  as  his  should  not  be  con- 
fined to  Edinburgh.  And  jealous  as  they  may  be  in  the  South 
of  the  Scotch  school,  they  could  not  refuse  to  recognize  its  excel- 
lence— eh  ?  No,  no  ;  when  Galbraith  likes  to  exheebit  in  Lon- 
don, ye'll  hear  a  stir,  I'm  thinking.  The  jealousy  of  English  art- 
ists will  have  no  effect  on  public  opeenion.  They  may  keep  him 
out  o'  the  Academy — there's  many  a  good  artist  has  never  been 
within  the  walls — but  the  public  is  the  judge.  I  am  told  that 
when  his  picture  of  Stonebyres  Falls  was  exheebited  in  Edin- 
burgh, a  dealer  came  all  the  way  from  London  to  look  at  it." 

"  Did  he  buy  it  ?"  asked  Miss  x\von,  gently. 

"  Buy  it !"  the  Laird  said,  with  a  contemptuous  laugh.  "  There 
are  some  of  us  about  Glasgow  who  know  better  than  to  let  a  pict- 
ure like  that  get  to  London.  I  bought  it  maself.  Ye'll  see  it 
when  ye  come  to  Denny-mains.     Ye  have  heard  of  it,  no  doubt?" 

"  N-no,  I  think  not,"  she  timidly  answers. 

"  No  matter — no  matter.  Ye'll  see  it  when  ye  come  to  Den- 
ny-mains." 

He  seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that  she  was  going  to  pay  a 
visit  to  Denny-mains :  had  he  not  heard,  then,  of  her  intention  of 
at  once  returning  to  London  ? 

Once  well  round  into  the  Frith  of  Lorn,  the  wind  that  had 
borne  us  down  the  Sound  of  lona  was  now  right  ahead,  and  our 
progress  w^as  but  slow.  As  the  evening  wore  on,  it  was  proposed 
thai  we  should  run  into  Loch  Speliv  for  the  night.  There  was 
no  dissentient  voice. 

The  sudden  change  from  the  plunging  seas  without  to  the 
quiet  waters  of  this  solitary  little  loch  was  strange  enough.  And 
then,  as  we  slowly  beat  up  against  the  northei'ly  wind  to  the  head 
of  the  loch  —  a  beautiful,  quiet,  sheltered  little  cup  of  a  harbor 
among  the  hills — we  found  before  us,  or  rather  over  us,  the  splen- 
dors of  a  stormy  sunset  among  the  mountains  above  Glen  More. 
It  was  a  striking  spectacle — the  vast  and  silent  gloom  of  the  val- 
leys below,  which  were  of  a  cold  and  intense  green  in  the  shad- 
ow ;  then  above,  among  the  great  shoulders  and  peaks  of  the 
hills,  flashing  gleams  of  golden  light,-and  long  swaths  of  purple 
cloud  touched  with  scarlet  along  their  edges,  and  mists  of  rain 
that  came  along  with  the  wind,  blotting  out  here  and  there  those 
splendid  colors.     There  was  an  absolute  silence  in  tins  overshad- 


BEFORE    BREAKFAST.  IVQ 

owed  bay,  but  for  the  cry  of  the  startled  wild-fowl.  There  was 
no  sign  of  any  habitation,  except  perhaps  a  trace  of  pale-blue 
smoke  rising  from  behind  a  mass  of  trees.  Away  went  the 
anchor  with  a  short,  sharp  rattle ;  we  were  safe  for  the  night. 

We  knew,  however,  what  that  trace  of  smoke  indicated  behind 
the  dark  trees.  By-and-by,  as  soon  as  the  gig  had  got  to  the 
land,  there  was  a  procession  along  the  solitary  shore — in  the  wan 
twilight — and  up  the  rough  path,  and  through  the  scattered 
patches  of  birch  and  fir.  And  were  you  startled,  madam,  by  the 
apparition  of  people  who  were  so  inconsiderate  as  to  knock  at 
your  door  in  the  middle  of  dinner,  and  Avhose  eyes,  grown  accus- 
tomed to  the  shadows  of  the  valleys  of  Mull,  must  have  looked 
bewildered  enough  on  meeting  the  glare  of  the  lamps?  And 
what  did  you  think  of  a  particular  pair  of  eyes — very  soft  and 
gentle  in  their  dark  lustre — appealing,  timid,  friendly  eyes,  that 
had  nevertheless  a  quiet  happiness  and  humor  in  them  ?  It  was, 
at  all  events,  most  kind  of  you  to  tell  the  young  lady  that  her  no- 
tion of  throwing  up  her  holiday  and  setting  out  for  London  was 
mere  midsummer  madness.  How  could  you — or  any  one  else — 
ffuess  at  the  origin  of  so  stransfe  a  wish  ? 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

BEFORE   BREAKFAST. 


"VYho  is  this  who  slips  through  the  saloon  while  as  yet  all  on 
board  are  asleep  —  who  noiselessly  ascends  the  companion-way, 
and  then  finds  herself  alone  on  deck?  And  all  the  world  around 
her  is  asleep,  too,  though  the  gold  and  rose  of  the  new  day  is 
shining  along  the  eastern  heavens.  There  is  not  a  sound  in  this 
silent  little  loch :  the  shores  and  the  woods  are  as  still  as  the  far 
peaks  of  the  mountains,  where  the  mists  are  touched  here  and 
there  with  a  dusky  fire. 

She  is  not  afraid  to  be  alone  in  this  silent  world.  There  is  a 
bright  and  contented  look  on  her  face.  Carefully  and  quietly, 
so  as  not  to  disturb  the  people  below,  she  gets  a  couple  of  deck- 
stools,  and  puts  down  the  large  sketch-book  from  under  her  arm, 
and  opens  out  a  certain  leather  case.  But  do  not  think  she  is 
going  to  attack  that  blaze  of  color  in  the  east,  with  the  reflect- 

9 


180  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

ed  glare  on  the  water,  and  tlie  bar  of  dark  land  between.  She 
knows  better.  She  has  a  wholesome  fear  of  cbrorao-lithographs. 
She  turns  rather  to  those  great  mountain  masses,  witb  their  mys- 
teriously moving  clouds,  and  their  shoulders  touched  here  and 
there  with  a  sombre  red,  and  their  deep  and  silent  glens  a  cold, 
intense  green  in  shadow.     There  is  more  workable  material. 

And,  after  all,  there  is  no  ambitious  effort  to  trouble  her.  It 
is  only  a  rough  jotting  of  form  and  color  for  future  use.  It  is 
a  pleasant  occupation  for  this  still,  cool,  beautiful  morning ;  and 
perhaps  she  is  fairly  well  satisfied  with  it,  for  one  listening  in- 
tently might  catch  snatches  of  songs  and  airs  of  a  somewhat  in- 
coherent and  inappropriate  character ;  for  what  have  the  praises 
of  Bonny  Black  Bess  to  do  with  sunrise  in  Loch  Speliv  ?  or  the 
saucy  Arethusa,  either  ?  But  all  the  same  the  work  goes  quietly 
and  dexterously  on — no  wild  dashes  and  searchings  for  theatrical 
effect,  but  a  patient  mosaic  of  touches  precisely  reaching  their 
end.  She  does  not  want  to  bewilder  the  world.  She  wants  to 
have  trustworthy  records  for  her  own  use.  And  she  seems  con- 
tent with  the  progress  she  is  making. 

"  Here's  a  health  to  the  girls  that  we  loved  long  ago  " — 

this  is  the  last  air  into  which  she  has  wandered,  half  humming 
and  half  whistling — 

"  Where  the  Shannon,  and  Liffey,  and  Blackwater  flow  " — 

w^hen  she  suddenly  stops  her  work  to  listen.  Can  any  one  be  up 
already  ?  The  noise  is  not  repeated  ;  and  she  proceeds  with  her 
work. 

"  Here's  a  health  to  old  Ireland  :  may  she  ne'er  be  dismayed  ! 
Then  pale  grew  the  cheeks  of  the  Irish  Brigade." 

The  clouds  are  assuming  substance  now  :  they  are  no  mere  flat 
washes,  but  accurately  drawn  objects  that  have  their  foreshorten- 
ing like  anything  else.  And  if  Miss  Avon  may  be  vaguely  con- 
scious that  had  our  young  doctor  been  on  board  she  would  not 
have  been  left  so  long  alone,  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  her 
work.  The  mornings  on  which  he  used  to  join  her  on  deck,  and 
chat  to  her  while  she  painted,  seemed  far  away  now.  He  and 
she  together  would  see  Dunvegan  no  more. 

But  who  is  this  who  most  cautiously  comes  up  the  compan- 
ion, bearing  in  his  hand  a  cup  and  saucer  ? 


BEFORE    BREAKFAST.  181 

"Miss  Avon,"  says  be,  with  a  bright  laugh,  "here  is  the  first 
cup  of  tea  I  ever  made ;  are  you  afraid  to  try  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  dear  me,"  said  she,  penitently,  "  did  I  make  any  noise  in 
getting  ray  things  below  ?" 

"  Well,"  he  says, "  I  thought  I  heard  you ;  and  I  knew  what 
you  would  be  after ;  and  I  got  up  and  lit  the  spirit-lamp." 

"  Oh,  it  is  so  very  kind  of  you  !"  she  says  ;  for  it  is  really  a 
pretty  little  attention  on  the  part  of  one  who  is  not  much  given 
to  shifting  for  himself  on  board. 

Then  he  dives  below  again  and  fetches  her  up  some  biscuits. 

"  By  Jove,"  he  says,  coming  closer  to  the  sketch,  "  that  is  very 
good.  That  is  awfully  good.  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  have 
done  all  that  this  morning  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  says,  modestly.     *'  It  is  only  a  sketch." 

"  I  think  it  uncommonly  good,"  he  says,  staring  at  it  as  if  he 
would  pierce  the  paper. 

Then  there  is  a  brief  silence,  during  which  Miss  Avon  boldly 
adventures  upon  this  amateur's  tea. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  says,  after  a  bit — "  it  is  none  of  my 
business,  you  know — but  you  don't  really  mean  that  you  are  go- 
ing back  to  London  ?" 

"  If  I  am  allowed,"  she  answers,  with  a  smile. 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  disappoint  your  friends  most  awfully," 
says  he,  in  quite  an  earnest  manner.  "  I  know  they  bad  quite 
made  up  their  minds  you  were  to  stay  the  whole  time.  It  would 
be  very  unfair  of  you.  And  my  uncle  —  he  would  break  his 
heart  if  you  were  to  go." 

"  They  are  all  very  kind  to  me,"  was  her  only  answer. 

"  Look  here,"  he  says,  with  a  most  friendly  anxiety.  "  If — if 
it  is  only  about  business — about  pictures,  I  mean — I  really  beg 
your  pardon  for  intermeddling — " 

"  Oh,"  said  she,  frankly,  "  there  is  no  secret  about  it.  In  fact, 
I  want  everybody  to  know  that  I  am  anxious  to  sell  my  pictures. 
You  see,  as  I  have  got  to  earn  my  own  living,  shouldn't  I  begin 
at  once,  and  find  out  what  it  is  like  ?" 

"  But  look  here,"  he  said,  eagerly,  "  if  it  is  a  question  of  sell- 
ing pictures,  you  should  trust  to  my  uncle.  He  is  among  a  lot 
of  men  in  the  west  of  Scotland,  rich  merchants  and  people  of 
that  sort,  who  haven't  inherited  collections  of  pictures,  and  whose 
hobby  is  to  make  a  collection  for  themselves.     And  they  have 


182  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

mucli  too  good  sense  to  buy  spurious  old  masters,  or  bad  exam- 
ples for  the  sake  of  the  name  :  they  prefer  good  modern  art,  and 
I  can  tell  you  they  are  prepared  to  pay  for  it,  too.  And  they 
are  not  fools,  mind  you  ;  they  know  good  pictures.  You  may 
think  my  uncle  is  very  prejudiced ;  he  has  his  favorite  artists, 
and — and  believes  in  Tom  Galbraith,  don't  you  know  ;  but,  I  can 
assure  you,  you  won't  find  many  men  who  know  more  about  a 
good  landscape  than  he  does ;  and  you  would  say  so  if  you  saw 
his  dining-room  at  Denny-mains." 

*'  I  quite  believe  that,"  said  she,  beginning  to  put  up  her  ma- 
terials :  she  had  done  her  morning's  work. 

"Well,"  he  says,  "you  trust  to  him;  there  are  lots  of  those 
Glasgow  men  who  would  only  be  too  glad  to  have  the  chance — " 

"  Oh  no,  no,"  she  cried,  laughing.  "  I  am  not  going  to  coerce 
people  into  buying  my  pictures  for  the  sake  of  friendship.  I 
think  your  uncle  would  buy  every  sketch  I  have  on  board  the 
yacht;  but  I  cannot  allow  my  friends  to  be  victimized." 

"Oh,  victimized!"  said  he,  scornfully.  "They  ought  to  be 
glad  to  have  the  chance.  And  do  you  mean  to  go  on  giving 
away  your  work  for  nothing?  That  sketch  of  the  little  creek 
we  were  in — opposite  lona,  don't  you  know — that  you  gave  my 
uncle,  is  charming.  And  they  tell  me  you  have  given  that  pict- 
ure of  the  rocks  and  sea-birds — where  is  the  place — " 

"Oh,  do  you  mean  the  sketch  in  the  saloon  of  Canna?" 

"  Yes  ;  why,  it  is  one  of  the  finest  landscapes  I  ever  saw.  And 
they  tell  me  you  gave  it  to  that  doctor  who  was  on  board." 

"  Dr.  Sutherland,"  says  she,  hastily — and  there  is  a  quick  color 
in  her  face — "  seemed  to  like  it  as — as  a  sort  of  reminiscence, 
you  know." 

"  But  he  should  not  have  accepted  a  valuable  picture,"  said  the 
Youth,  with  decision.  "  No  doubt  you  offered  it  to  him  when 
you  saw  he  admired  it.  But  now — when  he  must  understand 
ihat — well,  in  fact,  that  circumstances  are  altered — he  will  have 
the  good  sense  to  give  it  you  back  again." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not,"  she  says,  with  her  embarrassment  not  dimin- 
ishing.    "I — I  should  not  like  that.     I — I  should  be  vexed." 

"A  person  of  good  tact  and  good  taste,"  says  this  venturesome 
young  man,  "  would  make  a  joke  of  it — would  insist  Uiat  you 
never  meant  it — and  would  prefer  to  buy  the  picture." 

She  answers,  somewhat  shortly. 


BEFORE    BREAKFAST.  183 

"  I  think  not.  I  think  Dr.  Sutherland  has  as  good  taste  as 
any  one.     He  would  know  that  that  would  vex  me  very  much." 

"  Oh,  well,"  says  he,  with  a  sort  of  carelessness,  "  every  one  to 
his  liking.  If  he  cares  to  accept  so  valuable  a  present,  good  and 
well." 

"You  don't  suppose  he  asked  nie  for  it?"  she  says,  rather 
warmly.  "  I  gave  it  him.  He  would  have  been  rude  to  have 
refused  it.  I  was  very  much  pleased  that  he  cared  for  the  pict- 
ure." 

"Oh,  he  is  a  judge  of  art  also?  I  am  told  he  knows  every- 
thing." 

"  He  was  kind  enough  to  say  he  liked  the  sketch ;  that  was 
enough  for  me." 

"  He  is  very  lucky ;  that  is  all  I  have  to  say." 

"  I  dare  say  he  has  forgotten  all  about  such  a  trifle.  He  has 
more  important  things  to  think  about." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  with  a  good-natured  laugh,  "  I  should  not 
consider  such  a  picture  a  trifle  if  any  one  presented  it  to  me. 
But  it  is  always  the  people  who  get  everything  they  want  who 
value  things  least." 

"Do  you  think  Dr.  Sutherland  such  a  fortunate  person?"  says 
she.  "  Well,  he  is  fortunate  in  having  great  abilities ;  and  he  is 
fortunate  in  having  chosen  a  profession  that  has  already  secured 
him  great  honor,  and  that  promises  a  splendid  future  to  him. 
But  that  is  the  result  of  hard  work ;  and  he  has  to  work  hard 
now.  I  don't  think  most  men  would  like  to  change  places  with 
him  just  at  present." 

"He  has  one  good  friend  and  champion,  at  all  events,"  he  says, 
with  a  pleasant  smile. 

"  Oh,"  says  she,  hastily  and  anxiously,  "  I  am  saying  what  I 
hear.  My  acquaintance  with  Dr.  Sutherland  is — is  quite  recent, 
I  may  say,  though  I  have  met  him  in  London.  I  only  got  to 
know  something  about  him  when  he  was  in  Edinburgh,  and  I 
happened  to  be  there  too." 

"  He  is  coming  back  to  the  yacht,"  observes  Mr.  Smith. 

"He  will  be  foolish  to  think  of  it,"  she  answers,  simply. 

At  this  stage  the  yacht  begins  to  wake  up.  The  head  of  Hec- 
tor of  Moidart,  much  dishevelled,  appears  at  the  forecastle,  and 
that  wiry  mariner  is  rubbing  his  eyes ;  but  no  sooner  does  he 
perceive  that  one  of  the  ladies  is  on  deck  than  he  suddenly  ducks 


184  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 

down  again — to  get  bis  face  washed,  and  his  paper  collar.  Then 
there  is  a  voice  heard  in  the  saloon,  calling, 

"  Who  has  left  my  spirit-lamp  burning  ?" 

"  Oh,  good  gracious !"  says  the  Youth,  and  tumbles  down  the 
companion  incontinently. 

Then  the  Laird  appears,  bringing  up  with  him  a  huge  red 
volume  entitled  Municipal  London;  but  no  sooner  does  he  find 
that  Miss  Avon  is  on  deck  than  he  puts  aside  that  mighty  com- 
pendium, and  will  have  her  walk  up  and  down  with  him  before 
breakfast. 

"  What !"  he  says,  eying  the  cup  and  saucer,  "  have  ye  had 
your  breakfast  already  ?" 

"  Mr.  Smith  was  so  kind  as  to  bring  me  a  cup  of  tea." 

"What!"  he  says  again — and  he  is  obviously  greatly  delight- 
ed— "  of  his  own  making  ?  I  did  not  think  he  had  as  much 
gumption." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir  ?"  said  she.  She  had  been  startled  by 
the  whistling  of  a  curlew  close  by,  and  had  not  heard  him  dis- 
tinctly, 

"  I  said  he  was  a  smart  lad,"  said  the  Laird,  nnblushingly. 
"  Oh  ay,  a  good  lad ;  ye  will  not  find  many  better  lads  than 
Howard.     Will  I  tell  ye  a  secret?" 

"  Well,  sir — if  you  like,"  said  she. 

There  was  a  mysterious  but  humorous  look  about  the  Laird, 
and  he  spoke  in  a  whisper. 

"It  is  not  good  sometimes  for  young  folk  to  know  what 
is  in  store  for  them.  But  I  mean  to  give  him  Denny -mains. 
Whish !     Not  a  word.     I'll  surprise  him  some  day." 

"  He  ought  to  be  very  grateful  to  you,  sir,"  was  the  answer. 

"  That  he  is — that  he  is,"  said  the  Laird ;  "  he's  an  obedient 
lad.  And  I  should  not  wonder  if  he  had  Denny-mains  long  be- 
fore he  expects  it;  though  I  must  have  my  crust  of  bread,  ye 
know.  It  would  be  a  fine  occupation  for  him,  looking  after  the 
estate ;  and  what  is  the  use  of  his  living  in  London,  and  swallow- 
ing smoke  and  fog?  I  can  assure  ye  that  the  air  at  Denny-mains, 
though  it's  no  far  from  Glasgow,  is  as  pure  as  it  is  in  this  very 
Loch  Speliv." 

"  Oh,  indeed,  sir." 

They  had  another  couple  of  turns  in  silence. 

"  Yc're  verra  fond  of  sailing?"  says  the  Laird. 


IJEFOKE    BREAKFAST.  185 

"  I  am  now,"  she  says.  "  But  I  was  very  much  afraid  before 
I  came;  I  have  suffered  so  terribly  in  crossing  the  Channel. 
Somehow  one  never  thinks  of  being  ill  here  —  with  nice  clean 
cabins,  and  no  engines  throbbing — " 

"I  meant  that  ye  like  well  enough  to  go  sailing  about  these 
places  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  says  she.  "  When  shall  I  ever  have  such  a  beauti- 
ful holiday  again  ?" 

The  Laird  laughed  a  little  to  himself.  Then  he  said,  with  a 
business-like  air : 

"  I  have  been  thinking  that,  when  ray  nephew  came  to  Denny- 
mains,  I  would  buy  a  yacht  for  him,  that  he  could  keep  down 
the  Clvde  somewhere — at  Gourock,  or  Kilmun,  or  Dunoon  may- 
be. It  is  a  splendid  ground  for  yachting — a  splendid  !  Ye  have 
never  been  through  the  Kyles  of  Bute  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  sir ;  I  have  been  through  them  in  the  steamer." 

"Ay,  but  a  yacht;  wouldn't  that  be  better?  And  I  am  no 
sure  I  would  not  advise  him  to  have  a  steam-yacht — ye  are  so 
much  more  independent  of  wind  and  tide;  and  I'm  thinking  ye 
could  get  a  verra  good  little  steam-yacht  for  £3000," 

"  Oh,  indeed." 

"  A  great  deal  depends  on  the  steward,"  he  continues,  serious- 
ly. "  A  good  steward  that  does  not  touch  drink  is  jist  worth 
anything.  If  I  could  get  a  first-class  man,  I  would  not  mind  giv- 
ing him  two  pounds  a  week,  with  his  clothes  and  his  keep,  while 
the  yacht  was  being  used ;  and  I  would  not  let  him  away  in  the 
winter — no,  no.  Ye  could  employ  him  at  Denny-mains  as  a  but- 
ler-creature, or  something  like  that." 

She  did  not  notice  the  peculiarity  of  the  little  pronoun  :  if 
she  had,  how  could  she  have  imagined  that  the  Laird  was  really 
addressing  himself  to  her  ? 

"  I  have  none  but  weemen-servants  in-doors  at  Denny-mains," 
he  continued,  "but  when  Howard  comes  I  would  prefer  him  to 
keep  the  house  like  other  people,  and  I  will  not  stint  him  as  to 
means.     Have  I  told  ye  what  Welliam  Dunbaur  says — 

"  '  Be  merry,  man,  and  tak'  not  sair  in  mind — '  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  remember." 

"  There's  fine  common-sense  in  that.     And  do  not  you  believe 

9* 


186  WHITE  wings:   a  yachting  romance. 

the  people  wlio  tell  ye  that  the  Scotch  are  a  dour  people,  steeped 
in  Calvinism,  and  niggardly  and  grasping  at  the  last  farthing — " 

"  I  have  found  them  exceedingly  kind  to  me,  and  warm-hearted 
and  generous — "  says  she ;  but  he  interrupted  her  suddenly  : 

"  I'll  tell  ye  what  I'll  do,"  said  he,  with  decision.  "  When  I 
buy  that  yacht.  Til  get  Tom  Galbraith  to  paint  every  panel  in  the 
saloon — no  matter  what  it  costs." 

"Your  nephew  will  be  very  proud  of  it,"  she  said. 

"And  I  would  expect  to  take  a  trip  in  her  myself  occasional- 
ly," he  added,  in  a  facetious  manner.  "  I  would  expect  to  be  in- 
vited—" 

"  Surely,  sir,  you  cannot  expect  your  nephew  to  be  so  ungrate- 
ful—" 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  I  only  expect  reasonable  things.  Young  peo- 
ple are  young  people ;  they  cannot  like  to  be  always  hampered 
by  grumbling  old  fogeys.  No,  no ;  if  I  present  any  one  wi'  a 
yacht,  I  do  not  look  on  myself  as  a  piece  of  its  furniture." 

The  Laird  seemed  greatly  delighted.  His  step  on  the  deck 
was  firmer.  In  the  pauses  of  the  conversation  she  heard  some- 
thing about 

"  Tantara  !     Sing  tantara !" 

"  Will  ye  take  your  maid  with  ye  ?"  he  asked  of  her,  abruptly. 

The  girl  looked  up  with  a  bewildered  air — perhaps  with  a  trifle 
of  alarm  in  her  eyes. 

"I,  sir?" 

"  Ha,  ha !"  said  he,  laughing,  "  I  forgot.  Ye  have  not  been  in- 
vited yet.  No  more  have  I.  But — if  the  yacht  were  ready — 
and — and  if  ye  were  going — ye  would  take  your  maid,  no  doubt, 
for  comfort's  sake  ?" 

The  girl  looked  reassured.     She  said,  cheerfully, 

"  Well,  sir,  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  ever  go  yachting  again,  after 
I  leave  the  White  Dove.  And  if  I  were,  I  don't  suppose  I  should 
be  able  to  afford  to  have  a  maid  with  me,  unless  the  dealers  in 
London  should  suddenly  begin  to  pay  me  a  good  deal  more  than 
they  have  done  hitherto." 

At  this  point  she  was  summoned  below  by  her  hostess  calling. 
The  Laird  was  left  alone  on  deck.  He  continued  to  pace  up  and 
down,  muttering  to  himself,  with  a  proud  look  on  his  face, 

"A  landscape  in  every  panel,  as  I'm  a  living  man !  .  .  .  Tom  '11 
do  it  well,  when  I  tell  him  who  it's  for.  .  .  .  The  leddies'  cabin 


A    PROTECTOR.  187 

blue  and  silver  —  cool  in  the  summer — the  sky-light  pented: 
she'll  no  be  saying  that  the  Scotch  are  wanting  in  taste  when  she 

sees  that  cabin ! 

"  '  Sing  tantara  !  sing  tantara ! 
.  .  .  The  Highland  army  rues 
That  ere  they  came  to  Cromdale !' 

And  her  maid  —  if  she  will  not  be  able  to  afford  a  maid,  who 
will  ? — French,  if  she  likes  !  Blue  and  silver — blue  and  silver — 
that's  it !" 

And  then  the  Laird,  still  humming  his  lugubrious  battle-song, 
comes  down  into  the  saloon. 

"  Good- morning,  ma'am  ;  good -morning!  Breakfast  ready? 
I'm  just  ravenous.  That  wild  lassie  has  walked  me  up  and  down 
until  I  am  like  to  faint.  A  beautiful  morning  again — splendid ! 
— splendid !  And  do  ye  know  where  ye  will  be  this  day  next 
year  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't,"  says  his  hostess,  busy  with  the  breakfast 
things. 

"  I  will  tell  ye.  Anchored  in  the  Holy  Loch,  off  Kilmun,  in  a 
screw-yacht.     Mark  my  words  now  :  this  very  day  next  year  .^" 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A    PROTECTOR. 

"  Oh,  ay,"  says  John  of  Skye,  quite  proudly,  as  we  go  on  deck 
after  breakfast,  there  will  be  no  more  o'  the  dead  calms.  We 
will  give  Mr.  Sutherland  a  good  breeze  or  two  when  he  comes 
back  to  the  yat." 

It  is  all  Mr.  Sutherland  and  Mr.  Sutherland  now  ! — everything  is 
to  be  done  because  Mr.  Sutherland  is  coming.  Each  belaying-pin 
is  polished  so  that  one  might  see  to  shave  in  it ;  Hector  of  Moi- 
dart  has  spent  about  two  hours  in  scraping  and  rubbiifg  the  brass 
and  copper  of  the  galley  stove-pipe ;  and  Captain  John,  with 
ipany  grins  and  apologies,  has  got  Miss  Avon  to  sew  up  a  rent 
that  has  begun  to  appear  in  the  red  ensign.  All  that  he  wants 
now  is  to  have  the  yacht  beached  for  a  couple  of  days,  to  have 
the  long  slender  sea-grass  scraped  from  her  hull :  then  Mr.  Suth- 
erland will  see  how  the  White  Dove  will  sail ! 


188  WHITE  wings:   a  yachting  romance. 

"  I  should  imagine,"  says  the  Youth,  in  an  undertone,  to  his 
hostess,  as  we  are  working  out  tl»e  narrow  entrance  to  Loch 
SpeUv,  "  that  your  doctor-friend  must  have  given  those  men  a 
liberal  pour-boire  when  he  left." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  not,"  said  she  quickly,  as  if  that  was  a  serious 
imputation.     "  That  is  very  unlikely." 

"  They  seem  very  anxious  to  have  everything  put  right  against 
his  coming,"  he  says.  "At  all  events,  your  captain  seems  to  think 
that  every  good  breeze  he  gets  is  merely  thrown  away  on  us." 

"  Dr.  Sutherland  and  he,"  she  says,  laughing,  "  were  very  good 
friends.  And  then  Angus  had  very  bad  luck  when  he  was  on 
board :  the  glass  wouldn't  fall.  But  I  have  promised  to  bottle 
up  the  equinoctials  for  him — he  will  have  plenty  of  winds  before 
we  have  done  with  him.  You  must  stay  too,  you  know,  Mr. 
Smith,  and  see  how  the  White  Dove  rides  out  a  gale." 

He  regarded  her  with  some  suspicion.  He  was  beginning  to 
know  that  this  lady's  speech — despite  the  great  gentleness  and 
innocence  of  her  eyes — sometimes  concealed  curious  meanings. 
And  was  she  now  merely  giving  him  a  kind  and  generous  invita- 
tion to  go  yachting  with  us  for  another  month  ;  or  was  she,  with 
a  cruel  sarcasm,  referring  to  the  probability  of  his  having  to  re- 
main a  prisoner  for  that  time,  in  order  to  please  his  uncle  ? 

However,  the  conversation  had  to  be  dropped,  for  at  this  mo- 
ment the  Laird  and  his  protegee  made  their  appearance ;  and  of 
course  a  deck-chair  had  to  be  brought  for  her,  and  a  footstool, 
and  a  sun-shade,  and  a  book.  But  what  were  these  attentions, 
on  the  part  of  her  elderly  slave,  compared  with  the  fact  that  a 
young  man,  presumably  enjoying  a  sound  and  healthy  sleep, 
should  have  unselfishly  got  up  at  an  unholy  hour  of  the  morning, 
and  should  have  risked  blowing  up  the  yacht  with  spirits  of  wine 
in  order  to  get  her  a  cup  of  tea  ? 

It  was  a  fine  sailing  day.  Running  before  a  light  top-sail 
breeze  from  the  south-east,  the  White  Dove  was  making  for  the 
Lynn  of  IVforven,  and  bringing  us  more  and  more  within  view  of 
the  splendid  circle  of  mountains,  from  Bcn-Cruachan  in  the  cast 
to  Ben-Nevis  in  the  north  ;  from  Bcn-Ncvis  down  to  the  succes- 
sive waves  of  the  Morvcn  hills.  And  we  knew  why,  among  all 
the  sunlit  yellows  and  greens — faint  as  they  were  in  the  distance 
— there  were  here  and  there  on  slope  and  shoulder  stains  of  a 
beautiful  rose-purple  that  were  a  new  feature  in  the  landscape. 


A    PROTECTOR.  189 

The  heather  was  coming  into  bloom  —  the  knee -deep,  honey- 
scented  heather — the  haunt  of  the  snipe,  and  the  muircock,  and 
the  mountain  hare.  And  if  there  was  to  be  for  us  this  year  no 
toiling  over  the  high  slopes  and  crags — looking  down  from  time 
to  time  on  a  spacious  world  of  sunlit  sea  and  island — we  were 
not  averse  from  receiving  friendly  and  substantial  messages  from 
those  altitudes.  In  a  day  or  two  now  the  first  crack  of  the 
breech-loader  would  startle  the  silence  of  the  morning  air:  and 
Master  Fred's  larder  was  sorely  in  want  of  variety. 

Northward,  and  still  northward,  the  light  breeze  tempering  the 
scorching  sunlight  that  glares  on  the  sails  and  the  deck.  Each 
long  ripple  of  the  running  blue  sea  flashes  in  diamonds ;  and 
when  we  look  to  the  south,  those  silver  lines  converge  and  con- 
verge, until  at  the  horizon  they  become  a  solid  blaze  of  light  un- 
endurable to  the  eye.  But  it  is  to  the  north  we  turn — to  the 
land  of  Appin,  and  Kingairloch,  and  Lochaber :  blow,  light  wind, 
and  carry -Kus  onward,  gentle  tide;  we  have  an  appointment  to 
keep  within  the  shadow  of  the  mountains  that  guard  Clencoe. 

The  Laird  has  discovered  that  these  two  were  up  early  this 
morning:  he  becomes  facetious. 

"  Not  sleepy  yet.  Miss  Mary  ?"  he  says. 

"  Oh  no,  not  at  all,"  she  says,  looking  up  from  her  book. 

"  It's  the  early  bird  that  catches  the  first  sketch.  Fine  and 
healthy  is  that  early  rising,  Howard.  I'm  thinking  ye  did  not 
sleep  sound  last  night ;  what  for  were  ye  up  before  anybody  was 
stirring  ?" 

But  the  Laird  does  not  give  him  time  to  answer.  Something- 
has  tickled  the  fancy  of  this  profound  humorist. 

'"''Kee!  keeP''  he  laughs,  and  he  rubs  his  hands.  "I  mind  a 
good  one  I  heard  from  Tom  Galbraith  when  he  and  I  were  at 
the  Bridge  of  Allan — room  to  room,  ye  know  ;  and  Tom  did 
snore  that  night !  '  "Wliat,'  said  I  to  him  in  the  morning,  'had  ye 
nightmare  or  delirium  tremens,  that  ye  made  such  a  noise  in  the 
night  V  '  Did  I  snore  V  said  he — I'm  thinking  somebody  else 
must  have  complained  before.  '  Snore !'  said  I ;  '  twenty  gram- 
puses was  nothing  to  it.'  And  Tom — he  burst  out  a-laughing. 
'  I'm  very  glad,'  says  he.  '  If  I  snored,  I  must  have  had  a  sound 
sleep !'  A  sound  sleep — d'ye  see  ?  Very  sharp — very  smart — eh  ?" 
— and  the  Laird  laughed  and  chuckled  over  that  portentous  joke. 

"  Oh,  uncle  !  uncle  !  uncle  !"  his   nephew  cried.     "  You   used 


190  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting   romance. 

never  to  do  such  things.  You  must  quit  the  society  of  those 
artists,  if  they  have  such  a  corrupting  influence  on  you." 

"  I  tell  ye,"  he  says,  with  a  sudden  seriousness,  "  I  would  just 
hke  to  show  Tom  Galbraith  that  picture  o'  Canna  that's  below. 
No;  I  would  not  ask  him  to  alter  a  thing.  Very  good — very 
good  it  is.  And — and — I  think — I  will  admit  it — for  a  plain 
man  likes  the  truth  to  be  told — there  is  just  a  bit  jealousy  among 
them  against  any  English  person  that  tries  to  paint  Scotch 
scenery.  No,  no.  Miss  Mary — don't  you  be  afraid.  Ye  can  hold 
your  own.  If  I  had  that  picture,  now — if  it  belonged  to  me — 
and  if  Tom  was  stopping  wi'  me  at  Denny-mains,  I  would  not 
allow  him  to  alter  it — not  if  he  offered  to  spend  a  week's  work 
on  it." 

After  that — what?     The  Laird  could  say  no  more. 

Alas !  alas !  our  wish  to  take  a  new  route  northward  was  all 
very  well ;  but  we  had  got  under  the  lee  of  Lismore,  and  slowly 
and  slowly  the  wind  died  away,  until  even  the  sea  was  .as  smooth 
as  the  surface  of  a  mirror.  It  was  but  little  compensation  that 
we  could  lean  over  the  side  of  the  yacht  and  watch  the  thousands 
of  "sea -blubbers"  far  down  in  the  water,  in  all  their  hues  of 
blue  and  purple  and  pale  pink.  The  heat  of  the  sun  was  blister- 
ing, scorching  with  a  sharp  pain  any  nose  or  cheek  that  was  in- 
advertently turned  toward  it.  As  for  the  Laird,  he  could  not 
stand  this  oven-like  business  any  longer;  he  declared  the  saloon 
was  ever  so  much  cooler  than  the  deck  ;  and  went  down  below, 
and  lay  at  length  on  one  of  the  long  blue  cushions. 

"  Why,  John,"  says  Queen  T ,  "  you  are  bringing  on  those 

dead  calms  again  !     What  will  Dr.  Sutherland  say  to  you?" 

But  John  of  Skye  has  his  eye  on  the  distant  shore. 

"Oh  no,  mem,"  he  says,  Avith  a  crafty  smile,  "there  will  not 
be  a  dead  calm  very  long." 

And  there,  in  at  tlic  shore,  we  see  a  dark  line  on  the  water; 
and  it  spreads  and  spreads;  the  air  becomes  gratefully  cool  to 
the  face  before  the  breeze  perceptibly  fills  the  sails ;  then  there 
is  a  cheerful  swinging  over  of  the  boom  and  a  fluttering  of  the 
as  yet  unreleased  head-sails.  A  welcome  breeze,  surely,  from  the 
far  hills  of  Kingairloch.  AVe  thank  you,  you  beautiful  Kingair- 
loch,  with  your  deep  glens  and  your  rose -purple  shoulders  of 
hills ;  long  may  you  continue  to  send  fresh  westerly  winds  to 
the  parched  and  passing  voyager  ! 


A    PROTECTOR.  191 

We  catch  a  distant  glimpse  of  the  white  houses  of  Port  Ap- 
pin  ;  we  bid  adieu  to  the  musically  named  Eilean-na-Sluina ;  far 
ahead  of  us  is  the  small  white  light-house  at  the  mouth  of  the 
narrows  of  Corran,  But  there  is  to  be  no  run  up  to  Fort  Wil- 
liam for  us  to-night ;  the  tide  will  turn  soon ;  we  cannot  get 
through  the  Corran  narrows.  And  so  there  is  a  talk  of  Balla- 
hulish ;  and  Captain  John  is  trying  hard  to  get  Miss  Avon  to 
pronounce  this  Bal-a-chaolish.  It  is  not  fair  of  Sandy  from 
Islay — who  thinks  he  is  hidden  by  the  foresail — to  grin  to  him- 
self at  these  innocent  efforts. 

Grander  and  grander  grow  those  ramparts  of  mountains  ahead 
of  us,  with  their  wine-colored  stains  of  heather  on  the  soft  and 
velvety  yellow -green.  The  wind  from  the  Kingairloch  shores 
still  carries  us  on,  and  Inversanda  swells  the  breeze;  soon  we 
shall  be  running  into  that  wide  channel  that  leaps  up  to  the  beau- 
tiful Loch  Leven.  The  Laird  reappears  on  deck.  He  is  quite 
enchanted  with  the  scene  around  him.  He  says  if  an  artist  had 
placed  that  black  cloud  behind  the  great  bulk  of  Ben-Nevis,  it 
could  not  have  been  more  artistically  arranged.  He  declares  that 
this  entrance  to  Loch  Leven  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  places 
he  has  ever  seen.  He  calls  attention  to  the  soft  green  foliage  of 
the  steep  hills,  and  to  that  mighty  peak  of  granite,  right  in  the 
middle  of  the  landscape,  that  we  discover  to  be  called  the  Pap  of 
Glencoe.  And  here,  in  the  mellow  light  of  the  afternoon,  is  the 
steamer  coming  down  from  the  north :  is  it  to  be  a  race  between 
us  for  the  Bal-a-chaolish  quay  ? 

It  is  an  unfair  race.     We  have  to  yield  to  brute  strength  and 

steam-kettles. 

"  Four  to  one  Argyll  came  on," 

as  the  dirge  of  Eric  says.  But  we  bear  no  malice.  We  salute 
our  enemy  as  he  goes  roaring  and  throbbing  by;  and  there  is 
many  a  return  signal  waved  to  us  from  the  paddle-boxes. 

"  Mr.  Sutherland  is  no  there,  mem,  I  think,"  says  Captain  John, 
who  has  been  scanning  those  groups  of  people  with  his  keen 
eyes. 

"  I  should  think  not :  he  said  he  was  coming  to-morrow,"  is 
the  answer. 

"Will  he  be  coming  down  by  the  Chevalier  in  the  morning, 
or  by  the  Mountaineer  at  night  ?"  is  the  further  question. 

"  I  don't  know." 


192  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

"  We  will  be  asbore  for  bim  in  tbe  morning,  whatever,"  says 
Jobn  of  Skye,  cbeerfully ;  and  you  would  bave  tbougbt  it  was 
bis  guest,  and  not  ours,  wbo  was  coming  on  board. 

Tbe  roaring  out  of  tbe  ancbor-cbain  was  almost  immediately 
followed  by  Master  Fred's  bell.  Mary  Avon  was  silent  and  dis- 
traite at  dinner ;  but  notbing  more  was  said  of  ber  return  to  Lon- 
don. It  was  understood  tbat  wben  Angus  Sutberland  came  on 
board  we  sbould  go  back  to  Castle  Osprey,  and  bave  a  couple 
of  days  on  sbore,  to  let  the  White  Dove  get  rid  of  ber  parasitic 
sea-weed. 

Then,  after  dinner,  a  fishing  excursion  ;  but  this  was  in  a  new 
loch,  and  we  were  not  very  successful.  Or  was  it  that  most  of 
us  were  watching,  from  this  cup  of  water  surrounded  by  tbe  cir- 
cle of  great  mountains,  tbe  strange  movings  of  tbe  clouds  in  the 
gloomy  and  stormy  twilight,  long  after  the  sun  had  sunk  ? 

"  It  is  not  a  very  sheltered  place,"  remarked  the  Laird,  "  if  a 
squall  were  to  come  down  from  tbe  hills." 

But  by-and-by  something  appeared  that  lent  an  air  of  stillness 
and  peace  to  this  sombre  scene  around  us.  Over  one  of  those 
eastern  mountains  a  faint,  smoky,  suffused  yellow  light  began  to 
show  ;  then  the  outline  of  tbe  mountain,  serrated  with  trees, 
grew  dark ;  then  tbe  edge  of  tbe  moon  appeared  over  tbe  black 
line  of  trees ;  and  by-and-by  the  world  was  filled  with  this  new, 
pale  light,  though  the  shadows  on  tbe  hills  were  deeper  than 
ever.  We  did  not  hurry  on  our  way  back  to  the  yacht.  It  was 
a  magical  night — tbe  black  overhanging  bills,  tbe  white  clouds 
crossing  the  blue  vaults  of  the  heavens,  tbe  wan  light  on  tbe  sea. 
What  need  for  Jobn  of  Skye  to  put  up  tbat  golden  lamp  at  the 
bow?  But  it  guided  us  on  our  way  back,  under  tbe  dusky 
shadows  of  the  hills. 

Then  below,  in  tbe  orange-lit  cabin,  with  cards  and  dominoes 
and  chess  about,  a  curious  thing  overhead  happens  to  catch  the 
eye  of  one  of  tbe  gamblers.  Through  tbe  skylight,  with  this 
yellow  glare,  we  ought  not  to  see  anything;  but  there,  shining 
in  the  night,  is  a  long  bar  of  pale  phosphorescent  green  light. 
Wliat  can  this  be?  Why  green?  And  it  is  Mary  Avon  wbo 
first  suggests  what  this  strangely  luminous  thing  must  be — tbe 
boom,  wet  with  the  dew,  shining  in  the  moonlight. 

"  Come,"  says  the  Laird  to  ber,  "  put  a  shawl  round  ye,  and  we 
will  go  up  for  another  look  round." 


A    PROTECTOR.  193 

And  so,  after  a  but,  they  went  on  deck,  tlicsc  two,  leaving  the 
others  to  their  bezique.  And  tlie  Laird  was  as  careful  about  the 
wrapping  up  of  this  girl  as  if  she  had  been  a  child  of  five  years 
of  age ;  and  when  they  went  out  on  to  the  white  deck,  he  would 
give  her  his  arm,  that  she  should  not  trip  over  any  stray  rope ; 
and  they  were  such  intimate  friends  now  that  he  did  not  feel 
called  upon  to  talk  to  her. 

But  by-and-by  the  heart  of  the  Laird  was  lifted  up  within  him  be- 
cause of  the  wonderful  beauty  and  silence  of  this  moonlight  night. 

"  It  is  a  great  peety,"  said  he,  "  that  you  in  the  South  are  not 
brought  up  as  children  to  be  familiar  with  the  Scotch  version 
of  the  Psalms  of  David.  It  is  a  fountain-head  of  poetry  that 
ye  can  draw  from  all  your  life  long ;  and  is  there  any  poetry  in 
the  world  can  beat  it?  And  many  a  time  I  think  that  David 
had  a  great  love  for  mountains,  and  that  he  must  have  looked  at 
the  hills  around  Jerusalem,  and  seen  them  on  many  a  night  like 
this.  Ye  cannot  tell,  lassie,  what  stirs  in  the  heart  of  a  Scotch- 
man or  Scotchwoman  when  they  repeat  the  121st  Psalm: 

" '  I  to  the  hills  will  lift  mine  eyes, 

From  whence  doth  come  mine  aid  ; 
My  safety  cometh  from  the  Lord, 

Who  heaven  and  earth  hath  made. 
Thy  foot  he'll  not  let  slide,  nor  will 

He  slumber  that  thee  keeps  : 
Behold,  He  that  keeps  Israel 

He  slumbers  not  nor  sleeps.' 

Ask  your  friend  Dr.  Sutherland — ask  him  whether  he  has  found 
anything  among  his  philosophy,  and  science,  and  the  new-fangled 
leeterature  of  the  day  that  comes  so  near  to  his  heart  as  a  verse 
of  the  old  Psalms  that  he  learned  as  a  boy.  I  have  heard  of  Scotch 
soldiers  in  distant  countries  just  bursting  out  crying  w^hen  they 
heard  by  chance  a  bit  repeated  o'  the  Psalms  of  David.  And 
the  strength  and  reliance  of  them !  what  grrander  source  of  con- 
solation  can  ye  have?  'As  the  mountains  are  round  about  Jeru- 
salem, so  the  Lord  is  round  about  His  people  from  henceforth 
even  forever.'  What  are  the  trials  of  the  hour  to  them  that  be- 
lieve and  know  and  hope  ?  They  have  a  sure  faith ;  the  captivity 
is  not  forever.  Do  ye  remember  the  beginning  of  the  126th 
Psalm  ? — it  reminds  me  most  of  all  of  the  Scotch  phrase, 
" '  Laughin'  niaist  like  to  greet ' 


194  WHITE    AVINGS;     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

— 'When  the  Lord  turned  again  the  captivity  of  Zion,  we  were 
like  them  that  dream.  Then  was  our  mouth  filled  with  laughter, 
and  our  tongue  with  singing :  then  said  they  among  the  heathen, 
The  Lord  hath  done  great  things  for  them.  The  Lord  hath  done 
great  things  for  us ;  whereof  we  are  glad.  Turn  again  our  cap- 
tivity, O  Lord,  as  the  streams  in  the  south.' " 

The  Laird  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  two ;  there  was  nothing 
but  the  pacing  up  and  down  the  moon-lit  deck. 

"And  you  have  your  troubles  too,  my  lass,"  said  he,  at  length. 
"  Oh,  I  know,  though  ye  put  so  brave  a  face  on  it.  But  you 
need  not  be  afraid  ;  you  need  not  be  afraid.  Keep  up  your 
heart.  I  am  an  old  man  now ;  I  may  have  but  few  years  to 
reckon  on;  but  while  I  live  ye  will  not  want  a  friend. ...  Ye 
will  not  want  a  friend. ...  If  I  forget,  or  refuse  what  I  promise 
ye  this  night,  may  God  do  so  and  more  unto  me !" 

But  the  good-hearted  Laird  will  not  have  her  go  to  sleep  with 
this  solemnity  weighing  on  her  mind. 

"  Come,  come,"  he  says,  cheerfully,  "  we  will  go  below  now ; 
and  you  will  sing  me  a  song — the  Queen's  Maries,  if  ye  like — 
though  I  doubt  but  that  they  were  a  lot  o'  wild  hizzies." 


CHAPTER  XXVL 

"mARY  !    MARY  !" 

Is  there  any  one  awake  and  listening — perhaps  with  a  tre- 
mor of  the  heart — for  the  calling  out  of  "  White  Dove,  ahoy !" 
from  the  shore  ?  Once  the  ordinary  loud  noises  of  the  morning 
are  over — the  brief  working  of  the  pump,  the  washing  down  of 
the  decks — silence  reigns  once  more  throughout  the  yacht.  One 
can  only  hear  a  whispering  of  the  rain  above. 

Then,  in  the  distance,  there  is  a  muffled  sound  of  the  paddles 
of  a  steaincr;  and  that  becomes  fainter  and  fainter,  while  the 
White  Dove  gradually  ceases  the  motion  caused  by  the  passing 
waves.  Again  there  is  an  absolute  stillness,  with  only  that  whis- 
pering of  the  rain. 

But  this  sudden  sound  of  oars?  and  the  slight  shock  against 
the  side  of  the  vessel?  The  only  person  on  board  the  yacht 
who  is  presentable  whips  a  shawl  over  her  head,  darts  up  the 


"mARy!     MARY  !"  195 

companion-way,  and  boldly  emerges  into  the  moist  and  dismal 
morning. 

"  Oh,  Angus !"  she  cries,  to  this  streaming  black  figure  that  has 
just  stepped  on  deck,  "  what  a  day  you  have  brought  with  you  !" 

"  Oh,  it  is  nothing,"  says  a  cheerful  voice  from  out  of  the  drip- 
ping mackintosh — perhaps  it  is  this  shining  black  garment  that 
makes  the  wet  face,  and  whiskers,  and  hair  glow  redder  than  ever, 
and  makes  the  blue  eyes  look  even  bluer.  "  Nothing  at  all. 
John  and  I  have  agreed  it  is  going  to  clear.  But  this  is  a  fine  place 
to  be  in,  with  a  falling  glass !  If  you  get  a  squall  down  from 
Glencoe,  you  won't  forget  it." 

"A  squall!"  she  says,  looking  round  in  amazement.  Well 
might  she  exclaim,  for  the  day  is  still,  and  gray,  and  sombre ;  the 
mountains  are  swathed  in  mist ;  the  smooth  sea  troubled  only  by 
the  constant  rain. 

However,  the  ruddy-faced  doctor,  having  divested  himself  of 
his  dripping  garment,  follows  his  hostess  down  the  companion 
and  into  the  saloon,  and  sits  down  on  one  of  the  couches.  There 
is  an  odd,  half-pathetic  expression  on  bis  face  as  he  looks  around. 

"  It  seems  a  long  time  ago,"  he  says,  apparently  to  himself. 

"  What  does?"  asks  his  hostess,  removing  her  head-gear. 

"  The  evenings  we  used  to  spend  in  this  very  saloon,"  says  he 
— looking  with  a  strange  interest  on  those  commonplace  objects, 
the  draughts  and  dominoes,  the  candlesticks  and  cigar  boxes,  the 
cards  and  books — "  away  up  there  in  the  north.  It  seems  years 
since  we  were  at  Dunvegan,  doesn't  it,  and  lying  off  Vaternish 
Point?  There  never  was  as  snug  a  cabin  as  this  in  any  yacht. 
It  is  like  returning  to  an  old  home  to  get  into  it." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  says  his  hostess,  regard- 
ing him  with  a  great  kindliness.  "  ATe  will  try  to  make  you  for- 
get that  you  have  ever  been  away.  Although,"  she  added,  frank- 
ly, "  I  must  tell  you  you  have  been  turned  out  of  your  state-room 
— for  a  time.  I  know  you  won't  mind  having  a  berth  made  up 
for  you  on  one  of  those  couches." 

"  Of  course  not,"  he  said,  "  if  I  am  not  in  your  way  at  all. 
But—" 

And  his  face  asked  the  question. 

"  Oh,  it  is  a  nephew  of  Denny-mains  who  has  come  on  board 
— a  Mr.  Smith,  a  very  nice  young  fellow ;  I  am  sure  you  will  like 
him." 


196  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting   romance. 

There  was  nothing  said  in  reply  to  this. 

Then  the  new-comer  inquired,  rather  timidly,  "  You  are  all 
well,  I  hope  ?" 

"  Oh  yes." 

"And — and  Miss  Avon,  too  ?"  said  he. 

"  Oh  yes.  But  Mary  has  suffered  a  great  misfortune  since  you 
left." 

She  looked  up  quickly.  Then  she  told  him  the  story ;  and  in 
telling  him  her  indignation  awoke  afresh.  She  spoke  rapidly. 
The  old  injury  had  touched  her  anew. 

But,  strangely  enough,  although  Angus  Sutherland  displayed  a 
keen  interest  in  the  matter,  he  was  not  at  all  moved  to  that  pas- 
sion of  anger  and  desire  for  vengeance  that  had  shaken  the  Laird. 
Not  at  all.  He  was  very  thoughtful  for  a  time ;  but  he  only  said, 
"You  mean'she  has  to  support  herself  now?" 

"  Absolutely." 

"  She  will  naturally  prefer  that  to  being  dependent  on  her 
friends  ?" 

"She  will  not  be  dependent  on  her  friends,  I  know,"  is  the  an- 
swer ;  "  though  the  Laird  has  taken  such  a  great  liking  for  her 
that  I  believe  he  would  give  her  half  Denny-mains." 

He  started  a  little  bit  at  this,  but  immediately  said : 

"  Of  course  she  will  prefer  independence.  And,  as  you  say, 
she  is  quite  capable  of  earning  her  own  living.  Well,  she  does 
not  worry  about  it?     It  does  not  trouble  her  mind?" 

"  That  affair  of  her  uncle  wounded  her  very  keenly,  I  imagine, 
though  she  said  little ;  but  as  for  the  loss  of  her  little  fortune, 
not  at  all.  She  is  as  light-hearted  as  ever.  The  only  thing  is 
that  she  is  possessed  by  a  mad  notion  that  she  should  start  away 
at  once  for  London." 

"  AVhy  ?" 

"To  begin  work.     I  tell  her  she  must  work  here." 

"  But  she  is  not  anxious  ?     She  is  not  troubled  ?" 

^"  Not  a  bit.  The  Laird  says  she  has  the  courage  of  ten  men  ; 
and  I  believe  him." 

"  That  is  all  right.  I  was  going  to  prescribe  a  course  of 
Marcus  Aurelius;  but  if  you  have  got  philosopliy  in  your  blood, 
it  is  better  than  getting  it  in  through  the  brain." 

And  so  this  talk  ended,  leaving  on  the  mind  of  one  of  those 
two  friends  a  distinct  sense  of  disappointment.     She  had  been 


"mary;    mary!"  19V 

under  the  impression  that  Angus  Sutherland  had  a  very  warm 
regard  for  Mary  Avon ;  and  she  had  formed  certain  other  sus- 
picions. She  had  made  sure  that  he,  more  quickly  than  any  one 
else,  would  resent  the  injury  done  to  this  helpless  girl.  And 
now  he  seemed  to  treat  it  as  of  no  account.  If  she  was  not 
troubling  herself ;  if  she  was  not  giving  herself  headaches  about 
it;  then,  no  matter!  It  was  a  professional  view  of  the  case.  A 
dose  of  Marcus  Aurelius  !  It  was  not  thus  that  the  warm-hearted 
Laird  had  espoused  Mary  Avon's  cause. 

Then  the  people  came  one  by  one  in  to  breakfast;  and  our 
young  doctor  was  introduced  to  the  stranger  who  had  ousted 
him  from  his  state-room.     Last  of  all  came  Mary  Avon. 

How  she  managed  to  go  along  to  him,  and  to  shake  hands 
with  him,  seeing -that  her  eyes  were  bent  on  the  floor  all  the 
time,  was  a  mystery.  But  she  did  shake  hands  with  him,  and 
said,  *'  How  do  you  do  ?"  in  a  somewhat  formal  manner ;  and  she 
seemed  a  little  paler  than  usual. 

"  I  don't  think  you  are  looking  quite  as  well  as  when  I  left," 
said  he,  with  a  great  interest  and  kindness  in  his  look. 

"  Thank  you,  I  am  very  well,"  she  said  ;  and  then  she  instantly 
turned  to  the  Laird,  and  began  chatting  to  him.  Angus  Suth- 
erland's face  burnt  red ;  it  was  not  thus  she  had  been  used  to 
greet  him  in  the  morning,  when  we  were  far  away  beyond  the 
shores  of  Canna. 

And  then,  when  we  found  that  the  rain  was  over,  and  that 
there  was  not  a  breath  of  wind  in  this  silent,  gray,  sombre  world 
of  mountain  and  mist,  and  when  we  went  ashore  for  a  walk 
along  the  still  lake,  what  must  she  needs  do  but  attach  herself 
to  the  Laird,  and  take  no  notice  of  her  friend  of  former  days. 
Angus  walked  behind  with  his  hostess,  but  he  rarely  took  his 
e^-es  off  the  people  in  front.  And  when  Miss  Avon,  picking  up 
a  wild  flower  now  and  again,  was  puzzling  over  its  name,  he  did 
not,  as  once  he  would  have  done,  come  to  her  help  with  his  stu- 
dent days'  knowledge  of  botany.  Howard  Smith  brought  her 
a  bit  of  wall-rue,  and  said  he  thought  they  called  it  Asplenium 
marinum :  there  was  no  interference.  The  preoccupied  doctor 
behind  only  asked  how  far  Miss  Avon  was  going  to  walk  with 
her  lame  foot. 

The  Laird  of  Denny -mains  knew  nothing  of  all  this  occult 
business.      He  was  rejoicing  in  his  occupation  of  philosopher 


198  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

and  guide.  He  was  assuring  us  all  that  this  looked  like  a  real 
Highland  day — far  more  so  than  the  Algerian  blue  sky  that  had 
haunted  us  for  so  long.  He  pointed  out,  as  we  walked  along 
the  winding  shores  of  Loch  Leven,  by  the  path  that  rose  and 
fell,  and  skirted  small  precipices  all  hanging  in  foliage,  how  beau- 
tiful was  that  calm  slate-blue  mirror  beneath,  showing  every  out- 
line of  the  sombre  mountains,  with  their  masses  of  Landseer 
mist.  He  stopped  his  companion  to  ask  her  if  she  had  ever 
seen  anything  finer  in  color  than  the  big  clusters  of  scarlet  row- 
ans among  the  yellow-green  leaves.  Did  she  notice  the  scent  of 
the  meadow-sweet  in  the  moist  air  of  this  patch  of  wood?  He 
liked  to  see  those  white  stars  of  the  grass  of  Parnassus ;  they 
reminded  him  of  many  a  stroll  among  the  hills  about  Loch 
Katrine. 

"And  this  still  Loch  Leven,"  he  said  at  length,  and  without 
the  least  blush  on  his  face,  "  with  the  Glencoe  mountains  at  the 
end  of  it,  I  have  often  heard  say  was  as  picturesque  a  loch  as 
any  in  Scotland,  on  a  gloomy  day  like  this.  Gloomy  I  call  it, 
but  ye  see  there  are  fine  silver  glints  among  the  mist ;  and — and, 
in  fact,  there's  a  friend  of  mine  has  often  been  wishing  to  have 
a  water-color  sketch  of  it.  If  ye  had  time,  Miss  Mary,  to  make 
a  bit  drawing  from  the  deck  of  the  yacht,  ye  might  name  your 
own  price — just  name  your  own  price.     I  will  buy  it  for  him." 

A  friend !     Mary  Avon  knew  very  well  who  the  friend  was. 

"  I  should  be  afraid,  sir,"  said  she,  laughing,  "  to  meddle  with 
anything  about  Glencoe." 

"Toots!  toots!"  said  he;  "ye  have  not  enough  confidence.  I 
know  twenty  young  men  in  Edinburgh  and  Glasgow  who  have 
painted  every  bit  of  Glencoe,  from  the  bridge  to  the  King's  House 
inn,  and  not  one  of  them  able  to  come  near  ye.  Mind,  I'm  look- 
ing forward  to  showing  your  pictures  to  Tom  Galbraith.  I'm 
thinking  lic'll  stare." 

The  Laird  chuckled  again. 

"Oh  ay!  he  does  not  know  what  a  formidable  rival  has  come 
from  the  South.  I'm  thinking  he'll  stare  when  he  comes  to  Den- 
ny-mains to  meet  ye.     Howard,  what's  that  down  there?" 

The  Laird  had  caught  sight  of  a  pink  flower  on  the  side  of  a 
steep  little  ravine,  leading  down  to  the  shore. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  it — I  don't  want  it !"  Mary  Avon  cried. 

But  the  Laird  was  obdurate.     His  nephew  had  to  go  scram- 


"mARy!    MARY  !"  199 

bling  down  through  the  alders,  and  rowan-trees,  and  wet  bracken 
to  get  this  bit  of  pink  crane's-bill  for  Miss  Avon's  bouquet.  And 
of  course  she  was  much  pleased,  and  thanked  him  very  prettily ; 
and  was  it  catch-fly,  or  Herb  Robert,  or  what  was  it  ? 

Then,  out  of  sheer  common  courtesy,  she  had  to  turn  to  Angus 
Sutherland. 

"  I  am  sure  Dr.  Sutherland  can  tell  us,"  she  says,  timidly ;  and 
she  does  not  meet  his  eyes. 

"It  is  one  of  the  crane's-bills,  anyway,"  he  says,  indifferently. 
"  Don't  you  think  you  had  better  return  now,  Miss  Avon,  or  you 
will  hurt  your  foot  ?" 

"  Oh,  my  foot  is  quite  well  now,  thank  you,"  she  says ;  and  on 
she  goes  again. 

We  pass  by  the  first  cuttings  of  the  slate  quarries,  the  men 
suspended  by  ropes  round  their  waists,  and  hewing  away  at  the 
face  of  the  cliff.  We  go  through  the  long,  straggling  village ; 
and  the  Laird  remarks  that  it  is  not  usual  for  a  Celtic  race  to  have 
such  clean  cottages,  with  pots  of  flowers  in  the  window.  We 
saunter  idly  onward  toward  those  great  mountain  masses,  and 
there  is  apparently  no  thought  of  returning. 

"  When  we've  gone  so  far,  might  we  not  go  on  to  the  mouth  of 
the  pass  ?"  she  asks.  "  I  should  like  to  have  a  look  even  at  the 
beginning  of  Glencoe." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  the  Laird,  wnth  a  shrewd  smile.  "  Oh 
ay,  we  may  as  well  go  on." 

Past  those  straggling  cottages,  with  the  elder-bush  at  their 
doors  to  frighten  away  witches ;  over  the  bridge  that  spans  the 
brawling  Cona ;  along  the  valley  down  which  the  stream  rushes ; 
and  this  gloom  overhead  deepens  and  deepens.  The  first  of  the 
great  mountains  appears  on  our  right,  green  to  the  summit,  and 
yet  so  sheer  from  top  to  bottom  that  it  is  difiicult  to  understand 
how  those  dots  of  sheep  maintain  their  footing.  Then  the 
marks  on  him  ;  he  seems  to  be  a  huge  Behemoth,  with  great  eyes, 
grand,  complacent,  even  sardonic,  in  his  look.  But  the  farther 
and  farther  mountains  have  nothing  of  this  mild,  grand  humor 
about  them ;  they  are  sullen  and  awful ;  they  grasp  the  earth 
with  their  mighty  bulk  below,  but  far  away  they  lift  their  lurid 
peaks  to  the  threatening  skies,  up  there  where  the  thunder 
threatens  to  shake  the  silence  of  the  world. 

"  Miss  Avon,"  Dr.  Sutherland  again  remonstrates,  "  you  have 


200  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

come  five  or  six  miles  now.     Suppose  you  liave  to  walk  back  in 
the  rain  ?" 

"I  don't  mind  about  that,"  she  says,  cheerfully  ;  "but  I  am 
dreadfully,  dreadfully  hungry." 

"Then  we  must  push  on  to  Clachaig,"  says  the  Laird;  "there 
is  no  help  for  it." 

"But  wait  a  moment,"  she  says. 

She  goes  to  the  side  of  the  road,  where  the  great  gray  bowl-i 
ders  and  ferns  and  moist  marsh-grass  are,  and  begins  to  gather 
handfuls   of  "sourocks;"  that  is   to   say,  of  the  smaller  sheep- 
sorrel.     "  Who  will  partake  of  this  feast  to  allay  the  pangs  of 
hunger  ?" 

"  Is  thy  servant  a  baa-lamb  that  she  should  do  this  thing  ?"  her 
hostess  says,  and  drives  the  girl  forward. 

The  inn  is  reached  but  in  time;  for  behold  there  is  a  gray 
"smurr"  of  mist  coming  down  the  glen,  and  the  rain  is  begin- 
ning to  darken  the  gray  bowlders  again.  And  very  welcome  are 
those  chairs,  and  the  bread-and-cheese  and  beer,  and  the  humble 
efforts  in  art  around  the  walls.  If  the  feast  is  not  as  the  feasting 
of  the  Fish-mongers,  if  we  have  no  pretty  boxes  to  carry  home  to 
the  children,  if  we  have  no  glimpses  of  the  pale  blue  river  and 
shipping  through  the  orange  light  of  the  room,  at  least  we  are 
not  amazed  by  the  appearance  of  the  Duke  of  Sussex  in  the  garb 
of  a  Highlander.  And  the  frugal  meal  was  substantial  enough. 
Then  the  question  about  getting  back  arose. 

"  Now,  Mary,"  says  her  hostess,  "  you  have  got  to  pay  for  your 
amusement.  How  will  you  like  walking  seven  or  eight  miles  in 
a  thunder-storm  ?" 

But  here  the  Laird  langhs. 

"  No,  no,"  he  says,  going  to  the  window.  "  That  wagonette 
that  has  just  come  up  I  ordered  at  the  inn  on  passing.  Ye  will 
not  have  to  walk  a  step,  my  lass  ;  but  I  think  we  had  better  be 
going,  as  it  looks  black  overhead." 

Black  enough,  indeed,  was  it  as  we  drove  back  in  tliis  silent  af- 
ternoon, with  a  tlumdcr-storm  apparently  about  to  break  over  our 
heads.  And  it  was  close  and  sultry  when  we  got  on  board  again, 
though  there  was  as  yet  no  wind.  Captain  John  did  not  like  the 
look  of  t])e  sky. 

"I  said  you  were  going  to  bring  a  gale  with  you,  Angus,"  his 
hostess  remarked  to  him,  cheerfully,  at  dinner. 


"mary!    mary!"  201 

"  It  begins  to  look  like  it,"  he  answered,  gravely ;  "  and  it  is 
getting  too  late  to  run  away  from  here  if  the  wind  rises.  As 
soon  as  it  begins  to  blow,  if  I  were  John,  I  would  put  out  the 
starboard  anchor." 

"  I  know  he  will  take  your  advice,"  she  answers,  promptly. 

We  saw  little  of  Angus  Sutherland  that  evening;  for  it  was 
raining  hard  and  blowing  hard ;  and  the  cabin  below,  with  its  lit 
candloS,  and  books,  and  cards,  and  what  not,  was  cheerful  enough; 
while  he  seemed  very  much  to  prefer  being  on  deck.  We  could 
hear  the  howling  of  the  wind  through  the  rigging,  and  the  gur- 
gling of  the  water  along  the  sides  of  the  yacht;  and  we  knew  by 
the  way  she  was  swaying  that  she  was  pulling  hard  at  her  anchor 
chain.  Tliere  was  to  be  no  beautiful  moonlight  for  us  that  night, 
with  the  black  shadows  on  the  hills,  and  the  lane  of  silver  on  the 
water. 

A  dripping  and  glistening  figure  comes  down  the  companion ; 
a  gleaming  red  face  appears  at  the  door.  Mary  Avon  looks  up 
from  her  draughts,  but  for  an  instant. 

"  Well,  Angus,  what  is  the  report?"  says  Queen  Titania,  bright- 
ly. "And  what  is  all  the  noise  on  deck?  And  why  don't  you 
come  below  V 

"  They  have  been  paying  out  more  anchor  chain,"  says  the 
rough  voice  from  out  of  the  mackintosh ;  "  it  is  likely  to  be  a 
nasty  night,  and  we  are  going  to  lower  the  top-mast  now.  I  want 
you  to  be  so  kind  as  to  tell  Fred  to  leave  out  some  whiskey  and 
some  bread -and- cheese ;  for  John  thinks  of  having  an  anchor 
watch." 

"  The  bread-and-cheese  and  whiskey  Fred  can  get  at  any  time," 
says  she.  And  she  adds,  with  some  warmth,  "  But  you  are  not 
going  to  stay  on  deck  on  such  a  night.  Come  in  here  at  once. 
Leave  your  mackintosh  on  the  steps." 

Is  it  that  he  looks  at  that  draught-board  ?  It  is  Mr.  Howard 
Smith  who  is  playing  with  Mary  Avon.  The  faithless  Miranda 
has  got  another  Ferdinand  now. 

"I  think  I  would  rather  take  my  turn  like  the  rest,"  he  says, 
absently.  "There  may  be  some  amusement  before  the  morn- 
ing." 

And  so  the  black  figure  turned  away  and  disappeared;  and  a 
strange  thing  was  that  the  girl  playing  draughts  seemed  to  have 
been  so  bewildered  by  the  apparition  that  she  stared  at  the  board, 

10 


202  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

and  could  not  be  got  to  understand  how  she  had  made  a  gross 
and  gigantic  blunder. 

"  Oh  yes ;  oh,  certainly  !"  she  said,  hurriedly  ;  but  she  did  not 
know  how  to  retrieve  her  obvious  mistake. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

AN     UNSPOKEN     APPEAL, 


"  What  have  I  done  ?  Is  she  vexed  ?  Have  I  offended  her  ?" 
he  asked,  the  next  morning,  in  a  rapid  manner,  when  his  hostess 
came  on  deck.  The  gale  had  abated  somewhat,  but  gloom  over- 
spread earth  and  sky.  It  was  nothing  to  the  gloom  that  over- 
spread his  usually  frank  and  cheerful  face. 

"  You  mean  Mary  ?"  she  says,  though  she  knows  well  enough. 

"  Yes  ;  haven't  you  seen  ?  She  seems  to  treat  me  as  though 
we  had  never  met  before — as  though  we  were  perfect  strangers ; 
and  I  know  she  is  too  kind-hearted  to  cause  any  one  any  pain — " 

Here  he  looks  somewhat  embarrassed  for  a  moment;  but  his 
customary  straightforwardness  comes  to  his  rescue. 

"  Yes ;  I  will  confess  I  am  very  much  hurt  by  it.  And — and 
I  should  like  to  know  if  there  was  any  cause.  Surely  you  must 
have  noticed  it  ?" 

She  had  noticed  it,  sure  enough ;  and  in  contrast  with  that 
studied  coldness  which  Mary  Avon  had  shown  to  her  friend  of 
former  days,  she  had  remarked  the  exceeding  friendliness  the 
young  lady  was  extending  to  the  Laird's  nephew.  But  would 
she  draw  the  obvious  conclusion  ?  Not  likely ;  she  was  too 
staunch  a  friend  to  believe  any  such  thing.  All  the  same,  there 
remained  in  her  mind  a  vague  feeling  of  surprise,  with  perhaps 
a  touch  of  personal  injury. 

"  Well,  Angus,  you  know,"  she  said,  evasively,  "  Mary  is  very 
much  preoccupied  just  at  present.  Her  whole  condition  of  life 
is  changed,  and  she  has  many  things  to  think  of — " 

"  Yes  ;  but  she  is  frank  enough  with  her  other  friends.  What 
have  I  done  that  I  should  be  made  a  stranger  of?" 

A  strange  answer  comes  to  these  idle  frettings  of  the  hour. 
Far  away  on  the  sliorc  a  number  of  small  black  figures  emerge 
from   the  woods,  and  slowly  pass  along  the  winding  road  that 


AN    UNSPOKEN    APPEAL.  203 

skirts  the  rocks.  They  are  following  a  cart — a  common  farm- 
yard cart ;  but  on  the  wooden  planks  is  placed  a  dark  object  that 
is  touched  here  and  there  with  silver — or  perhaps  it  is  only  the 
white  cords.  Between  the  overhanging  gloom  of  the  mountains 
and  the  cold  grays  of  the  wind-swept  sea  the  small  black  line 
passes  slowly  on.  And  these  two  on  board  the  yacht  watch  it  in 
silence.  Are  they  listening  for  the  wail  of  the  pipes — the  pa- 
thetic dirge  of  "  Lord  Lovat,"  or  the  cry  of  the  "  Cumhadh  na 
Cloinne  ?"  But  the  winds  are  loud,  and  the  rushing  seas  are 
loud ;  and  now  the  rude  farm-yard  cart,  with  its  solemn  burden,  is 
away  out  at  the  point ;  and  presently  the  whole  simple  pageant 
has  disappeared.  The  lonely  burying-ground  lies  far  away  among 
the  hills. 

Angus  Sutherland  turns  round  again  with  a  brief  sigh. 

"  It  will  be  all  the  same  in  a  few  years,"  he  says  to  his  host- 
ess ;  and  then  he  adds,  indifferently,  "  What  do  you  say  about 
starting  ?  The  wind  is  against  us ;  but  anything  is  better  than 
lying  here.     There  were  some  bad  squalls  in  the  night." 

Very  soon  after  this  the  silent  loch  is  resounding  with  the 
rattle  of  halyards,  blocks,  and  chains ;  and  Angus  Sutherland  is 
seeking  distraction  from  those  secret  cares  of  the  moment  in  the 
excitement  of  hard  work.  Nor  is  it  any  joke  getting  in  that 
enormous  quantity  of  anchor  chain.  In  the  midst  of  all  the  noise 
and  bustle,  Mary  Avon  appears  on  deck  to  see  what  is  going  on, 
and  she  is  immediately  followed  by  young  Smith. 

"Why  don't  you  help  them  ?"  she  says,  laughing. 

"  So  I  would,  if  I  knew  what  to  do,"  he  says,  good-naturedly. 
"  I'll  go  and  ask  Dr.  Sutherland." 

It  was  a  fatal  step.  Angus  Sutherland  suggested,  somewhat 
grimly,  that  if  he  liked  he  might  lend  them  a  hand  at  the  windlass. 
A  muscular  young  Englishman  does  not  like  to  give  in,  and  for  a 
time  he  held  his  own  with  the  best  of  them  ;  but  long  before  the 
starboard  anchor  had  been  got  up,  and  the  port  one  hove  short, 
he  had  had  enough  of  it.  He  did  not  volunteer  to  assist  at  the 
throat  halyards.  To  Miss  Avon,  who  was  calmly  looking  on,  he 
observed  that  it  would  take  him  about  a  fortnight  to  get  his  back 
straight. 

"  That,"  said  she,  finding  an  excuse  for  him  instantly, "  is  be- 
cause you  -worked  too  hard  at  it  at  first.  You  should  have 
watched  the  Islav  man.     All  he  does  is  to  call  '  Heave !'  and  to 


204  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

make  his  shoulders  go  up  as  if  he  were  going  to  do  the  whole 
thing  himself.  But  he  does  not  help  a  bit.  I  have  watched  him 
again  and  again." 

"  Your  friend  Dr.  Sutherland,"  said  he,  regarding  her  for  an 
instant  as  he  spoke,  "  seems  to  work  as  hard  as  any  of  them." 

"  He  is  very  fond  of  it,"  she  said,  simply,  without  any  embar- 
rassment ;  nor  did  she  appear  to  regard  it  as  singular  that  Angus 
Sutherland  should  have  been  spoken  of  specially  as  her  friend. 

Angus  Sutherland  himself  comes  rapidly  aft,  loosens  the  tiller- 
rope,  and  jams  the  helm  over.  And  now  the  anchor  is  hove 
right  up  ;  the  reefed  main-sail  and  small  jib  quickly  fill  out  before 
tliis  fresh  breeze  ;  and  presently,  with  a  sudden  cessation  of  noise, 
we  are  spinning  away  through  the  leaden-colored  waters.  We 
are  not  sorry  to  get  away  from  under  the  gloom  of  these  giant 
hills ;  for  the  day  still  looks  squally,  and  occasionally  a  scud  of 
rain  comes  whipping  across,  scarcely  sufficient  to  wet  the  decks. 
And  there  is  moi'e  life  and  animation  on  board  now ;  a  good  deal 
of  walking  up  and  down  in  Ulsters,  with  inevitable  collisions; 
and  of  remarks  shouted  against,  or  with,  the  wind ;  and  of  joyful 
pointing  toward  certain  silver  gleams  of  light  in  the  west  and 
south.  There  is  hope  in  front ;  behind  us  nothing  but  darkness 
and  the  threaten ings  of  storm.  The  Pass  of  Glencoe  has  disap- 
peared in  rain ;  the  huge  mountains  on  the  right  are  as  black  as 
the  deeds  of  murder  done  in  the  glen  below ;  Ardgour  over  there, 
and  Lochaber  here,  are  steeped  in  gloom.  Ancl  there  is  less  sad- 
ness now  in  the  old  refrain  of  "  Lochaber,"  since  there  is  a  pros- 
pect of  the  South  shining  before  us.  If  Mary  Avon  is  singing  to 
herself  about 

"  Locliabcr  no  more,  and  Lochaber  no  more — 
We'll  maybe  return  to  Lochaber  no  more," 

it  is  with  a  light  lieart. 

But  then  if  it  is  a  fine  thing  to  go  bowling  along  with  a  brisk 
breeze  on  our  beam,  it  is  very  different  when  we  get  round 
Ardshicl,  and  find  the  southerly  wind  veering  to  meet  us  dead 
in  the  teeth.  And  there  is  a  good  sea  running  up  Loch  Linnhe 
— a  heavy  gray-green  sea  that  the  White  JJovc  meets  and  breaks, 
with  spurts  of  spray  forward,  and  a  line  of  hissing  foam  in  our 
wake.  The  zigzag  beating  takes  us  alternately  to  Ardgour  and 
Appin,  until  we  can  see  here  and  there  the  cheerful  patches  of 
yellow   corn   at   the  foot   of  the   giant  and  gloomy  hills;   iheti 


AN    UNSPOKEN    APPEAL.  205 

"  'Bout  ship  "  again,  avid  away  we  go  on  the  heaving  and  rushing 
gray-green  sea. 

And  is  Mary  Avon's  oldest  friend  —  the  woman  who  is  the 
staunchest  of  champions — being  at  last  driven  to  look  askance  at 
the  girl?  Is  it  fair  that  the  young  lady  should  be  so  studiously 
silent  when  our  faithful  doctor  is  by,  and  instantly  begin  to  talk 
again  when  he  goes  forward  to  help  at  the  jib  or  foresail  sheets? 
And  when  he  asks  her,  as  in  former  days,  to  take  the  tiller,  she 
somewhat  coldly  declines  the  offer  he  has  so  timidly  and  respect- 
fully made.  But  as  for  Mr.  Smith,  that  is  a  very  different  mat- 
ter. It  is  he  whom  she  allows  to  go  below  for  some  wrapper  for 
her  neck.  It  is  he  who  stands  by,  ready  to  shove  over  the  top 
of  the  companion  when  she  crouches  to  avoid  a  passing  shower 
of  rain.  It  is  he  with  whom  she  jokes  and  talks  —  when  the 
Laird  does  not  monopolize  her. 

"  I  would  have  believed  it  of  any  girl  in  the  world  rather  than 
of  her,"  says  her  hostess,  to  another  person,  when  these  two  hap- 
pen to  be  alone  in  the  saloon  below.  "I  don't  believe  it  yet — it 
is  impossible !  Of  course  a  girl  who  is  left  as  penniless  as  she  is 
might  be  pardoned  for  looking  round  and  being  friendly  with 
rich  people  who  are  well  inclined  toward  her;  but  I  don't  believe 
— I  say  it  is  impossible — that  she  should  have  thrown  Angus 
over  just  because  she  saw  a  chance  of  marrying  the  Laird's 
nephew.  Why,  there  never  was  a  girl  we  have  ever  known  so 
independent  as  she  is  —  not  any  one  half  as  proud  and  as  fear- 
less. She  looks  upon  going  to  London  and  earning  her  own  liv- 
ing as  nothing  at  all.  She  is  the  very  last  girl  in  the  world  to 
speculate  on  making  a  good  match — she  has  too  much  pride ; 
she  would  not  speak  another  word  to  Howard  Smith  if  such  a 
monstrous  thing  were  suggested  to  her." 

"  Very  well,"  says  the  meek  listener.  The  possibility  was  not 
of  his  suggesting,  assuredly  :  he  knows  better. 

Then  the  Admiral-in-chief  of  the  White  Dove  sits  silent  and 
puzzled  for  a  time. 

"And  yet  her  treatment  of  poor  Angus  is  most  unfair.  He 
is  deeply  hurt  by  it — he  told  me  so  this  morning — " 

"  If  he  is  so  fearfully  sensitive  that  he  cannot  go  yachting  and 
enjoy  his  holiday  because  a  girl  does  not  pay  him  attention — " 

"  Why,  what  do  you  suppose  he  came  back  here  for  ?"  she 
savs,  warmlv.     "To  go  sailing  in  the  White  Dove?     No,  not  if 


206  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

twenty  White  Doves  were  waiting  for  him  !  He  knows  too  well 
the  value  of  his  time  to  stay  away  so  long  from  London  if  it 
were  merely  to  take  the  tiller  of  a  yacht.  He  came  back  here, 
at  great  personal  sacrifice,  because  Mary  was  on  board." 

"  Has  he  told  you  so?" 

"  He  has  not ;  but  one  has  eyes." 

"  Then  suppose  she  has  changed  her  mind :  how  can  you 
help  it  r 

She  says  nothing  for  a  second.  She  is  preparing  the  table  for 
Master  Fred :  perhaps  she  tosses  the  novels  on  to  the  couch  with 
an  impatience  they  do  not  at  all  deserve.  But  at  length  she 
says: 

"  Well,  I  never  thought  Mary  would  have  been  so  fickle  as  to 
go  chopping  and  changing  about  within  the  course  of  a  few 
weeks.  However,  I  won't  accuse  her  of  being  mercenary  ;  I  will 
not  believe  that.  Howard  Smith  is  a  most  gentlemanly  young 
man — good-looking,  too,  and  pleasant  tempered.  I  can  imagine 
any  girl  liking  him." 

Here  a  volume  of  poems  is  pitched  on  to  the  top  of  the 
draught-board,  as  if  it  liad  done  her  some  personal  injury. 

"And  in  any  case,  she  might  be  more  civil  to  a  very  old  friend 
of  ours,"  she  adds. 

Further  discourse  on  this  matter  is  impossible ;  for  our  Fried- 
rich  d'or  comes  in  to  prepare  for  luncheon.  But  why  the  charge 
of  incivility  ?  When  we  are  once  more  assembled  together,  the 
girl  IS  quite  the  reverse  of  uncivil  toward  him.  She  shows  him 
— when  she  is  forced  to  speak  to  him — an  almost  pamful  courte- 
sy ;  and  she  turns  her  eyes  down,  as  if  she  were  afraid  to  speak 
to  him.  This  is  no  flaunting  coquette,  proud  of  her  wilful  ca- 
price. 

And  as  for  poor  Angus,  he  does  his  best  to  propitiate  her. 
They  begin  talking  about  the  picturesqueness  of  various  cities. 
Knowing  that  Miss  Avon  has  lived  the  most  of  her  life,  if  she 
was  not  actually  born,  in  London,  he  strikes  boldly  for  London. 
What  is  there  in  Venice,  what  is  there  in  the  world,  like  London 
in  moonlight — with  the  splendid  sweep  of  her  river,  and  the  long 
lines  of  gas  lamps,  and  the  noble  bridges  ?  But  she  is  all  for  Ed- 
inburgh :  if  Edinburgh  had  but  the  Moldau  running  through  that 
valley,  and  the  bridges  of  Prague  to  span  it,  what  city  in  Europe 
could  cf^mparc  with  it?     And  the  Laird  is  so  delighted  with  her 


AN    UNSPOKEN    APPEAL.  207 

approval  of  the  Scotch  capital  that  he  forgets  for  the  moment  his 
Glaswegian  antipathy  to  the  rival  city,  and  enlarges  no  less  on  the 
picturesqueness  of  it  than  on  its  wealth  of  historical  traditions. 
There  is  not  a  stain  of  blood  on  any  floor  that  he  does  not  be- 
lieve in.  Then  the  Sanctuary  of  Ilolyrood :  what  stories  has  he 
not  to  tell  about  that  famous  refuge  ? 

"  I  believe  the  mysterious  influence  of  that  sanctuary  has  gone 
out  and  charmed  all  the  country  about  Eilinburgh,"  said  our 
young  doctor.  "  I  suppose  you  know  that  there  are  several 
plants,  poisonous  elsewhere,  that  are  quite  harmless  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Edinburgh.  You  remember  I  told  you,  Miss  Avon, 
that  evening  we  went  out  to  Arthur's  Seat?" 

It  was  well  done.  Queen  Titania  must  have  thought,  to  expose 
this  graceless  flirt  before  her  new  friends.  So  she  had  been 
walking  out  to  Arthur's  Seat  with  him  in  the  summer  afternoons  ? 

"  Y-yes,"  says  the  girl. 

"Ay,  that  is  a  most  curious  thing,"  says  the  Laird,  not  noticing 
her  downcast  looks  and  flushed  cheeks.  "  But  what  were  they, 
did  ye  say  ?" 

"  Umbelliferous  plants,"  replies  Angus  Sutherland,  in  quite  a 
matter-of-fact  manner.  "  The  (Encmthe  crocata  is  one  of  them,  I 
remember;  and,  I  think,  the  Cicuta  virosa — that  is,  the  water- 
hemlock." 

"  I  would  jist  like  to  know,"  says  the  Laird,  somewhat  pom- 
pously, "  whether  that  does  not  hold  good  about  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Glesca  also.  There's  nothing  so  particular  healthy  about 
the  climate  of  Edinburgh,  as  far  as  ever  I  heard  tell  of.  Quite 
the  reverse — quite  the  reverse.  East  winds,  fogs — no  wonder  the 
people  are  shilpit-looking  creatures,  as  a  general  rule,  like  a  lot  o' 
Paisley  weavers.  But  the  ceety  is  a  fine  ceety,  I  will  admit  that ; 
and  many's  the  time  I've  said  to  Tom  Galbraith  that  he  could  get 
no  finer  thing  to  paint  than  the  view  of  the  High  Street  atnight 
from  Princes  Street — especially  on  a  moonlight  night.  A  fine 
ceety  :  but  the  people  themselves !" — here  the  Laird  shook  his 
head.  "And  their  manner  o'  speech  is  most  vexsome — a  long, 
sing-song  kind  o'  yaumering,  as  if  they  had  not  sufiicient  man- 
liness to  say  outright  what  they  meant.  If  we  are  to  have  a 
Scotch  accent,  I  prefer  the  accent,  the  very  slight  accent,  ye  hear 
about  Glesca.  I  would  like  to  hear  what  Miss  Avon  has  to  say 
upon  that  point." 


208  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

"I  am  not  a  very  good  judge,  sir,"  says  Miss  Avon,  prudently. 

Then  on  deck.  The  leaden-bhick  waves  are  breaking  in  white 
foam  along  the  shores  of  Kingairloch  and  the  opposite  rocks  of 
Eilean-na-Shnna ;  and  we  are  still  laboriously  beating  against  the 
southerly  wind ;  but  those  silver-yellow  gleams  in  the  south  have 
increased,  over  the  softly  purple  hills  of  Morvern  and  Duart. 
Black  as  night  are  the  vast  ranges  of  mountains  in  the  north ; 
but  they  are  far  behind  us ;  we  have  now  no  longer  any  fear  of  a 
white  shaft  of  lightning  falling  from  the  gloom  overhead. 

The  decks  are  dry  now ;  camp-stools  are  in  requisition ;  there 
is  to  be  a  consultation  about  our  future  plans,  after  the  Whiie 
Dove  has  been  beached  for  a  couple  of  days.  The  Laird  admits 
that,  if  it  had  been  three  days  or  four  days,  he  would  like  to  run 
through  to  Glasgow  and  to  Strathgovan,  just  to  see  how  they 
were  getting  on  with  the  gas  lamps  in  the  Mitherdrum  Road ; 
but,  as  it  is,  he  will  write  for  a  detailed  report ;  hence  he  is  free 
to  go  wherever  we  wish.  Miss  Avon,  interrogated,  answers  that 
she  thinks  she  must  leave  us  and  set  out  for  London  ;  whereupon 
she  is  bidden  to  hold  her  tongue,  and  not  talk  foolishness.  Our 
doctor,  also  interrogated,  looks  down  on  the  sitting  parliament — 
he  is  standing  at  the  tiller — and  laughs. 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  getting  to  Castle  Osprey  to-night,"  he 
says,  "  whatever  your  plans  may  be.  The  breeze  is  falling  off  a 
bit.  But  you  may  put  me  down  as  willing  to  go  anywhere  with 
you,  if  you  will  let  me  come." 

This  decision  seemed  greatly  to  delight  his  hostess.  She  said 
we  could  not  do  without  him.  She  was  herself  ready  to  go  any- 
where now — eagerly  embraced  the  Youth's  suggestion  that  there 
were,  according  to  John  of  Skye's  account,  vast  numbers  of  seals 
in  the  bays  on  the  western  shores  of  Knapdale;  and  at  once  as- 
sured the  Laird,  who  said  he  pailicularly  wanted  a  seal-skin  or 
two  ^nd  some  skarts'  feathers  for  a  young  lady,  that  he  should 
not  be  disappointed.     Knapdale,  then,  it  was  to  be. 

But  in  the  mean  time?  Dinner  found  us  in  a  dead  calm.  Af- 
ter dinner,  when  we  came  on  deck,  the  sun  had  gone  down ;  and 
in  the  pale,  tender,  blue-gray  of  the  twilight  the  golden  star  of 
Lismore  Light-house  was  already  shining.  Then  we  had  our 
warning  lights  put  up — the  port  red  light  shedding  a  soft  crim- 
son glow  on  tlie  bow  of  the  dingy,  the  starboard  green  light 
touching  with  a  cold,  wan  color  the  iron  shrouds.     To  crown  all, 


AN    UNSPOKEN    APPEAL.  209 

as  we  were  watching  the  dark  shadows  of  Lisniore  Island,  a  thin, 
wliite,  vivid  line,  Uke  the  edge  of  a  shilling,  appeared  over  the  low 
liill ;  and  then  the  full-moon  rose  into  the  partially  clouded  sky. 
It  was  a  beautiful  night. 

But  we  gave  up  all  hope  of  reaching  Castle  Osprey.  The 
breeze  had  quite  gone ;  the  calm  sea  slowly  rolled.  We  went 
below  —  to  books,  draughts,  and  what  not — Angus  Sutherland 
alone  remaining  on  deck,  having  his  pipe  for  his  companion. 

It  was  about  an  hour  afterward  that  we  were  startled  by  sounds 
on  deck ;  and  presently  we  knew  that  the  White  Dove  was  again 
tiying  through  the  water.  The  women  took  some  little  time  to 
get  their  shawls  and  things  ready  :  had  they  known  what  was 
awaiting  them,  they  would  have  been  more  alert. 

For  no  sooner  were  we  on  deck  than  we  perceived  that  the 
White  Dove  was  tearing  through  the  water  without  the  slightest 
landmark  or  light  to  guide  her.  The  breeze  that  had  sprung  up 
had  swept  before  it  a  bank  of  sea-fog — a  most  unusual  thing  in 
these  windy  and  changeable  latitudes  ;  and  so  dense  was  this  fog 
that  the  land  on  all  sides  of  us  had  disappeared,  while  it  was  quite 
impossible  to  say  where  Lismore  Light-house  was.  Angus  Suth- 
erland had  promptly  surrendered  the  helm  to  John  of  Skye,  and 
had  gone  forward.  The  men  on  the  lookout  at  the  bow  were 
themselves  invisible. 

"  Oh,  it  is  all  right,  mem,"  called  out  John  of  Skye,  through 
the  dense  fog,  in  answer  to  a  question.  "  I  know  the  lay  o'  the 
land  very  well,  though  I  do  not  see  it.  And  I  will  keep  her  down 
to  Duart,  bekass  of  the  tide."     And  then  he  called  out, 

"  Hector,  do  you  not  see  any  land  yet  ?" 

"  Cha  neil  P''  calls  out  Hector,  in  reply,  in  his  native  tongue. 

""We'll  put  a  tack  on  her  now.     Ready  about,  boys!" 

"  Ready  about  /" 

Round  slews  her  head,  with  blocks  and  sails  clattering  and 
flapping;  there  is  a  scuffle  of  making  fast  the  lee  sheets;  then 
once  more  the  White  Dove  goes  plunging  into  the  unknown.  The 
non-experts  see  nothing  at  all  but  tlie  fog ;  they  have  not  the 
least  idea  whether  Lismore  Light-house — which  is  a  solid  object 
to  run  against — is  on  port  or  starboard  bow,  or  right  astern,  for 
the  matter  of  that.  They  are  huddled  in  a  gronp  about  the  top 
of  the  companion.     They  can  only  listen  and  wait. 

John  of  Skye's  voice  rings  out  again  : 

10* 


210  WHITE  wings:   a  yachting  romance. 

"Hector,  can  you  not  mek  out  the  land  yet?" 

''CharCeiir 

"  What  does  he  say  ?"  the  Laird  asks,  ahnost  in  a  whisper :  he 
is  afraid  to  distract  attention  at  such  a  time. 

"  He  says  '  No,'  "  Angus  Sutherland  answers.  "  He  cannot 
make  out  the  land.  It  is  very  thick,  and  there  are  bad  rocks  be- 
tween Lismore  and  Duart.  I  think  I  will  climb  up  to  the  cross- 
trees,  and  have  a  look  round." 

What  was  this  ?  A  girl's  hand  laid  for  an  instant  on  his  arm  ; 
a  girl's  voice — low,  quick,  beseeching — saying,  "OA  no  P'' 

It  was  the  trifle  of  a  moment. 

"  There  is  not  the  least  danger,"  says  he,  lightly.  "  Some- 
times you  can  see  better  at  the  cross-trees." 

Then  the  dim  figure  is  seen  going  up  the  shrouds ;  but  he  is 
not  quite  up  at  the  cross-trees  when  the  voice  of  John  of  Skye  is 
heard  again  : 

"  Mr.^Sutherland !" 

"All  right,  John  !"  and  the  dusky  figure  comes  stumbling  down 
and  across  the  loose  sheets  on  deck. 

"  If  ye  please,  sir,"  says  John  of  Skye ;  and  the  well-known 
formula  means  that  Angus  Sutherland  is  to  take  the  helm. 
Captain  John  goes  forward  to  the  bow.  The  only  sound  around 
us  is  the  surging  of  the  unseen  waves. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  frightened.  Miss  Avon,"  says  Mr.  Smith, 
quite  cheerfully ;  though  he  is  probably  listening,  like  the  rest 
of  us,  for  the  sullen  roar  of  breakers  in  the  dark. 

"  No,  I  am  bewildered — I  don't  know  what  it  is  all  about," 

"You  need  not  be  afraid,"  Angus  Sutherland  says  to  her, 
abruptly — for  he  will  not  have  the  Youth  interfere  in  such  mat- 
ters— "  with  Captain  John  on  board.  He  sees  better  in  a  fog 
than  most  men  in  daylight." 

"  We  are  in  the  safe-keeping  of  One  greater  than  any  Captain 
John,"  says  the  Laird,  simply  and  gravely  :  he  is  not  in  any 
alarm. 

Then  a  call  from  the  bow  : 

"Helm  hard  down,  sir!" 

"  Hard  down  it  is,  John  1" 

Then  the  rattle  again  of  sheets  and  sails ;  and,  as  she  swings 
round  again  on  the  other  tack,  what  is  that  vague,  impalpable 
shadow  one  sees — or  fancies  one  sees — on  the  starboard  bow  ? 


HIS    LORDSHIP.  211 

"  Is  that  the  land,  John  ?"  Angus  Sutherland  asks,  as  the  skip- 
per conies  aft. 

"  Oh  ay  1"  says  he,  with  a  chuckle.  "  I  wass  thinking  to  my- 
self it  wass  the  loom  of  Diiart  I  sah  once  or  twice.  And  I  wass 
saying  to  Hector  if  it  wass  his  sweetheart  he  will  look  for,  he 
will  see  better  in  the  night." 

Then  by -and -by  this  other  object,  to  which  all  attention  is 
summoned:  the  fog  grows  thinner  and  thinner;  some  one  catches 
sight  of  a  pale  glimmering  light  on  our  port  quarter,  and  we 
know  that  we  have  left  Lismorc  Light-house  in  our  wake.  And 
still  the  fog  grows  thinner,  until  it  is  suffused  with  a  pale  blue 
radiance ;  then  suddenly  we  sail  out  into  the  beautiful  moon- 
light, with  the  hills  along  the  horizon  all  black  under  the  clear 
and  solemn  skies. 

It  is  a  pleasant  sail  into  the  smooth  harbor  on  this  enchanted 
night :  the  far  windows  of  Castle  Osprey  are  all  aglow ;  the 
mariners  are  to  rest  for  awhile  from  the  travail  of  the  sea.  And, 
as  we  go  up  the  moonlit  road,  the  Laird  is  jocular  enough,  and 
asks  Mary  Avon,  who  is  his  companion,  whether  she  was  pre- 
pared to  sing  "  Lochaber  no  more  "  when  we  were  going  blindly 
through  the  mist.  But  our  young  doctor  remembers  that  hour 
or  so  of  mist  for  another  reason.  There  was  something  in  the 
sound  of  the  girl's  voice  he  cannot  forget.  The  touch  of  her 
hand  was  slight,  but  his  arm  has  not  even  yet  parted  with  the 
thrill  of  it. 


CHAPTER  XXVIIL 

HIS    LORDSHIP. 


Miss  Avon  is  seated  in  the  garden  in  front  of  Castle  Osprey, 
under  the  shade  of  a  drooping  ash.  Her  book  lies  neglected 
beside  her  on  the  iron  seat ;  she  is  idly  looking  abroad  on  the 
sea  and  the  mountains,  now  all  aglow  in  the  warm  light  of  the 
afternoon. 

There  is  a  clanging  of  a  gate  below.  Presently  up  the  steep 
gravel -path  comes  a  tall  and  handsome  young  fellow,  in  full 
shooting  accoutrement,  with  his  gun  over  his  shoulder.  Her 
face  instantly  loses  its  dreamy  expression.     She  welcomes  him 


212  WHITE    WINCJS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

■witli  a  clieerful  "  Good -evening !"  and  asks  what  sport  he  has 
had.  For  answer  he  comes  across  the  greensward,  places  his  gun 
against  the  trunk  of  the  ash,  takes  a  seat  beside  her,  and  puts  his 
hands  round  one  knee. 

"  It  is  a  long  story,"  says  the  Youth.  "  Will  it  bore  you  to 
hear  it  ?  I've  seen  how  the  women  in  a  country-house  dread  the 
beginning  of  the  talk  at  dinner  about  the  day's  shooting,  and 
yet  give  themselves  up,  like  the  martyrs  and  angels  they  are ; 
and — and  it  is  very  different  from  hunting,  don't  you  know,  for 
there  the  women  can  talk  as  much  as  anybody." 

"  Oh,  but  I  should  like  to  hear,  really,"  says  she.  "  It  was  so  kind 
of  a  stranger  on  board  a  steamer  to  offer  you  a  day's  shooting !" 

"  Well,  it  was,"  says  he ;  "  and  the  place  has  been  shot  over 
only  once — on  the  12th.  Very  well;  you  shall  hear  the  whole 
story.  I  met  the  keeper  by  appointment  down  at  the  quay.  I 
don't  know  what  sort  of  a  fellow  he  is  —  Highlander  or  Low- 
lander  ;  I  am  not  such  a  swell  at  those  things  as  my  uncle  is — 
but  I  should  have  said  he  talked  a  most  promising  mixture  of 
Devonshire,  Yorkshire,  and  Westmoreland — " 

"  What  was  his  name  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  says  the  other,  leisurely.  "  I  called  him 
Donald  on  chance;  and  he  took  to  it  well  enough.  I  confess  I 
thought  it  rather  odd  he  had  only  one  dog  with  him — an  old  re- 
triever; but  then,  don't  you  know,  the  moor  had  been  shot  over 
only  once;  and  I  thought  we  might  get  along.  As  we  walked 
along  to  the  hill,  Donald  says,  '  Dinna  tha  mind,  sir,  if  a  blackcock 
gets  up  ;  knock  un  owcr,  knock  un  ower,  sir.'  " 

At  this  point  Miss  Avon  most  unfairly  bursts  out  laughing. 

"  Why,"  she  says,  "  what  sort  of  countryman  was  he  if  he 
talked  like  that  ?  That  is  how  they  speak  in  plays  about  the 
colliery  districts." 

"  Oh,  it's  all  the  same,"  says  the  young  man,  quite  unabashed. 
"  I  gave  him  my  bag  to  carry,  and  put  eight  or  ten  cartridges  in 
my  pockets.  'A  few  mower,  sir;  a  few  mower,  sir,'  says  Don- 
ald ;  and  crams  my  pockets  full.  Tlicn  he  would  have  me  put 
cartridges  in  my  gun,  even  before  we  left  the  road ;  and  as  soon 
as  we  began  to  ascend  the  hill,  I  saw  he  was  on  the  outlook  for  a 
straggler  or  two,  or  perhaps  a  hare.  But  he  warned  me  that  the 
shooting  had  been  very  bad  in  these  districts  this  year,  and  that 
on  the  12th  the  rain  was  so  persistent  that  scarcely  anybody  went 


HIS    LORDSHIP.  '  213 

out.  Where  could  we  have  been  on  the  12th — surely  there  was 
no  such  rain  with  us  V 

"But  when  you  are  away  from  the  hills  you  miss  the  rain," 
remarks  this  profound  meteorologist. 

"Ah!  perhaps  so.  However,  Donald  said,  'His  lordship  went 
liout  for  an  hour,  and  got  a  brace  and  a  'alf.  His  lordship  is  no 
keen  for  a  big  bag,  ye  ken ;  but  is  just  satisfied  if  he  can  get  a 
brace  or  a  couple  of  brace  afore  luncheon.     It  is  the  exerceez  he 

likes.'     I  then  discovered  that  Lord had  had  this  moor  as 

part  of  his  shooting  last  year;  and  I  assured  Donald  I  did  not 
hunger  after  slaughter.  So  we  climbed  higher  and  liigher.  I 
found  Donald  a  most  instructive  companion.  He  was  very  great 
on  the  ownership  of  the  land  about  here,  and  the  old  families, 
don't  you  know,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing,  I  heard  a  lot  about 
the  MacDougalls,  and  how  they  had  all  their  possessions  confis- 
cated in  1 745  ;  and  how,  when  the  government  pardoned  them,  and 
ordered  the  land  to  be  restored,  the  Campbells  and  Breadalbane, 
into  whose  hands  it  had  fallen,  kept  all  the  best  bits  for  them- 
selves. I  asked  Donald  why  they  did  not  complain.  He  only 
grinned,  I  suppose  they  were  afraid  to  make  a  row.  Then  there 
was  one  MacDougall,  an  admiral  or  captain,  don't  you  know ;  and 
he  sent  a  boat  to  rescue  some  shipwrecked  men,  and  the  boat  was 
swamped.  Then  he  would  send  another,  and  that  was  swamped 
too.  The  government,  Donald  informed  me,  wanted  to  hang  him 
for  his  philanthropy  ;  but  he  had  influential  friends,  and  he  was 
let  off  on  the  payment  of  a  large  sum  of  money — I  suppose  out 
of  what  the  Dukes  of  Argyll  and  Breadalbane  had  left  him." 

The  Youth  calmly  shifted  his  hands  to  the  other  knee. 

"  You  see.  Miss  Avon,  this  was  all  very  interesting ;  but  I  had 
to  ask  Donald  where  the  birds  were,  '  I'll  let  loose  the  doag 
now,'  says  he.  AVell,  he  did  so.  You  would  have  thought  he 
had  let  loose  a  sky-rocket !  It  was  off  and  away — up  hill  and 
down  dale  —  and  all  his  whistling  wasn't  of  the  slightest  use. 
'  He's  a  bit  wild,'  Donald  had  to  admit ;  '  but  if  I  had  kent  you 
were  agoin'  shootin'  earlier  in  the  morning,  I  would  have  given 
him  a  run  or  two  to  take  the  freshness  hoff.  But  on  a  day  like 
this,  sir,  there's  no  scent ;  we  will  just  have  to  walk  them  up  ; 
they'll  lie  as  close  as  a  water-hen.'  So  we  left  the  dog  to  look 
after  himself,  and  on  we  pounded.  Do  you  see  that  long  ridge 
of  rugged  hill  ?" 


214  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 

He  pointed  to  the  coast-line  beyond  the  bay. 

"  Yes." 

"  We  had  to  cUmb  tliat,  to  start  with ;  and  not  even  a  glimpse 
of  a  rabbit  all  the  way  up.  '  'Ave  a  care,  sir,'  says  Donald ;  and 
I  took  down  my  gun  from  my  shoulder,  expecting  to  walk  into  a 
whole  covey  at  least.  '  Ilis  lordship  shot  a  brace  and  a  half  of 
grouse  on  this  wery  knoll  the  last  day  he  shot  over  the  moor  last 
year.'  And  now  there  was  less  talking,  don't  you  know  ;  and  we 
went  cautiously  through  the  heather,  working  every  bit  of  it,  until 
we  got  right  to  the  end  of  the  knoll.  '  It's  fine  heather,'  says 
Donald ;  '  bees  would  dae  well  here.'  So  on  we  went ;  and  Don- 
ald's information  began  again.  He  pointed  out  a  house  on  some 
distant  island  where  Alexander  III.  was  buried.  'But  where  are 
the  birds  ?'  I  asked  of  him  at  last.  '  Oh,'  says  he,  '  his  lordship 
was  never  greedy  after  the  shootin'.  A  brace  or  two  afore  lunch- 
eon was  all  he  wanted.  He  bain't  none  o'  your  greedy  ones,  he 
bain't.  His  lordship  shot  a  hare  on  this  very  side  last  year — a 
fine  long  shot.'  We  went  on  again  :  you  know  what  sort  of 
morning  it  was,  Miss  Avon  ?" 

"  It  was  hot  enough,  even  in  the  shelter  of  the  trees." 

"  Uj)  there  it  was  dreadful :  not  a  breath  of  wind :  the  sun  blis- 
tering. And  still  we  ploughed  through  that  knee-deep  heather, 
with  the  retriever  sometimes  coming  within  a  mile  of  us ;  and 
Donald  back  to  his  old  families.  It  was  the  MacDonnells  now; 
he  said  they  had  no  right  to  that  name ;  their  proper  name  was 
MacAlister — Mack  Mick  Alister,  I  think  he  said.  '  But  where  the 
dickens  arc  the  birds?'  I  said.  'If  we  get  a  brace  afore  luncheon 
we'll  do  fine,'  said  he.  And  then  he  added,  'There's  a  braw  cold 
well  down  there  tliat  his  lordship  aye  stopped  at.'  The  hint  was 
enough ;  we  had  our  dram.  Then  we  went  on,  and  on,  and  on, 
and  on,  until  I  struck  work,  and  sat  down,  and  w'aitcd  for  the 
luncheon-basket." 

"  We  were  so  afraid  Fred  would  be  late,"  she  said ;  "  the  men 
are  all  so  busy  down  at  the  yacht." 

"What  did  it  matter?"  the  Youth  said,  resignedly.  "I  was 
being  instiucted.  He  had  got  farther  back  still  now,  to  the 
I)ruids,  don't  you  know,  and  the  antiquity  of  the  (Jaelic  language. 
'  What  was  the  river  that  ran  by  Rome?'  'The  Tiber,'  I  said. 
'And  what,'  he  asked, '  was  Toher  in  Gaelic  but  a  spring  or  foun- 
tain?'    And  the  Taniar  in  Devonshire  was  the  same  thing.     And 


HIS  LORDSHIP.  21  f, 

the  various  Usks — uska,  it  seems,  is  the  Gaelic  for  Avater.  Well, 
I'm  hanged  if  1  know  what  that  man  did  7iot  talk  about!" 

"But  surely  such  a  keeper  must  be  invaluable,"  remarks  the 
young  lady,  innocently. 

"  Perhaps.  I  confess  I  got  a  little  bit  tired  of  it ;  but  no 
doubt  the  poor  fellow  was  doing  his  best  to  make  up  for  the 
want  of  birds.  However,  we  started  again  after  luncheon.  And 
now  we  came  to  place  after  place  where  his  lordship  had  perform- 
ed the  most  wonderful  feats  last  year.  And,  mind  you,  the  dog 
wasn't  ranging  so  wild  now;  if  there  had  been  the  ghost  of  a 
shadow  of  a  feather  in  the  whole  district,  we  must  have  seen  it. 
Then  we  came  to  another  well  where  his  lordship  used  to  stop 
for  a  drink.  Then  we  arrived  at  a  crest  where  no  one  who  had 
ever  shot  on  the  moor  had  ever  failed  to  get  a  brace  or  two.  A 
brace  or  two  !  What  we  flushed  was  a  covey  of  sheep  that  flew 
like  mad  things  down  the  hill.  Well,  Donald  gave  in  at  last. 
He  could  not  find  words  to  express  his  astonishment.  His  lord- 
ship had  never  come  along  that  highest  ridge  without  getting  at 
least  two  or  three  shots.  And,  when  I  set  out  for  home,  he  still 
stuck  to  it ;  he  would  not  let  me  take  the  cartridges  out  of  my 
gun;  he  assured  me  his  lordship  never  failed  to  get  a  snipe  or  a 
blackcock  on  the  way  home.     Confound  his  lordship !" 

"  And  is  that  all  the  story  ?"  says  the  young  lady,  with  her  eyes 
wide  open. 

"Yes,  it  is,"  says  he,  with  a  tragic  gloom  on  the  handsome  face. 

"You  have  not  brought  home  a  single  bird  ?" 

"  Not  a  feather ! — never  saw  one." 

"  Not  even  a  rabbit  ?" 

"  Nary  rabbit." 

"  Why,  Fred  was  up  here  a  short  time  ago,  wanting  a  few  birds 
for  the  yacht." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  says  he,  with  a  sombre  contempt.  "  Perhaps 
he  will  go  and  ask  his  lordship  for  them.  In  the  mean  time,  I'm 
going  in  to  dress  for  dinner.  I  suppose  his  lordship  would  do 
that  too,  after  having  shot  his  thirty  brace." 

"You  must  not,  anyway,"  she  says.  "There  is  to  be  no  dress- 
ing for  dinner  to-day;  we  are  all  going  down  to  the  yacht  after.' 

"At  all  events,"  he  says,  "  I  must  get  my  shooting  things  off. 
Much  good  I've  done  with  'em  !" 

So  he  goes  into  the  house,  and  leaves  her  alone.     But  this  chat 


216  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

together  seems  to  have  brightened  her  up  somewhat ;  and  with 
a  careless  and  cheerful  air  she  goes  over  to  the  flower  borders, 
and  begins  culling  an  assortment  of  various-hued  blossoms.  The 
evening  is  becoming  cooler ;  she  is  not  so  much  afraid  of  the  sun's 
glare ;  it  is  a  pleasant  task ;  and  she  is  singing,  or  humming, 
snatches  of  song  of  the  most  heterogeneous  character. 

"  Then  fill  up  a  bumper ! — what  can  I  do  less 
Than  drink  to  the  health  of  my  bonny  Black  Bess  ?" 

— this  is  the  point  at  which  she  has  arrived  when  she  suddenly 
becomes  silent,  and  for  a  second  her  face  is  suffused  with  a  con- 
scious color.  It  is  our  young  doctor  who  has  appeared  on  the 
gravel-path.  She  does  not  rise  from  her  stooping  position  ;  but 
she  hurries  with  her  work. 

"  You  are  going  to  decorate  the  dinner-table,  I  suppose  ?"  he 
says,  somewhat  timidly. 

"  Yes,"  she  answers,  without  raising  her  head.  The  fingers 
work  nimbly  enough  :  why  so  much  hurry  ? 

"  You  will  take  some  down  to  the  yacht,  too  ?"  he  says. 
"Everything  is  quite  ready  now  for  the  start  to-morrow." 

"Oh  yes,"  she  says.  "And  I  think  I  have  enough  now  for  the 
table.     I  must  go  in." 

"Miss  Avon,"  he  says  ;  and  she  stops,  with  her  eyes  downcast. 
"  I  wanted  to  say  a  word  to  you.  You  have  once  or  twice  spoken 
about  going  away.  I  wanted  to  ask  you — you  won't  think  it  is 
any  rudeness — but  if  the  reason  was — if  it  was  the  presence  of 
any  one  that  was  distasteful  to  you — " 

"  Oh,  I  hope  no  one  will  think  that!"  she  answers,  quickly  ;  and 
for  one  second  the  soft,  black,  pathetic  eyes  meet  his.  "  I  am 
very  happy  to  be  among  such  good  friends — too  happy,  I  think. 
I — I  must  think  of  other  things — " 

And  here  she  seems  to  force  this  embarrassment  away  from 
her;  and  she  says  to  him,  with  quite  a  pleasant  air, 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  that  the  White  Dove  will  sail  so  much 
better  now.  It  must  be  so  much  more  pleasant  for  you,  when 
you  understand  all  about  it." 

And  then  she  goes  into  the  house  to  put  the  flowers  on  the 
table,  lie,  left  alone,  goes  over  to  the  iron  scat  beneath  the  ash- 
tree,  and  takes  up  the  book  she  has  been  reading,  and  bends  his 
eyes  on  the  page.     It  is  not  the  book  he  is  thinking  about. 


THE  laird's  plans.  217 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE     laird's     plans. 

"Who  is  first  up  to  thrust  aside  those  delusive  yellow  blinds 
that  suggest  sunshine  whether  the  morning  be  fair  or  foul  ?  But 
the  first  glance  through  the  panes  removes  all  apprehensions  :  the 
ruffled  bay,  the  fluttering  ensign,  the  shining  white  wings  of  the 
White  Dove,  are  all  a  summons  to  the  slumbering  house.  And 
the  mistress  of  Castle  Osprey,  as  soon  as  she  is  dressed,  is  up- 
stairs and  down-stairs  like  a  furred  flash  of  lightning.  Her  cry 
and  potent  command — a  reminiscence  of  certain  transatlantic  ex- 
periences— is,  ^''All  aboard  for  DanTsr  She  will  not  have  so 
fine  a  sailing  morning  wasted,  especially  when  Dr.  Angus  Suther- 
land is  with  us. 

Strangely  enough,  when  at  last  we  stand  on  the  white  decks, 
and  look  round  on  the  shining  brass  and  varnished  wood,  and 
help  to  stow  away  the  various  articles  needed  for  our  cruise,  he  is 
the  least  excited  of  all  those  chattering  people.  There  is  a  cer- 
tain conscious  elation  on  starting  on  a  voyage,  especially  on  a 
beautiful  morning;  but  there  also  may  be  some  vague  and  dim 
apprehension.  The  beginning  is  here;  but  the  end?  Angus 
walked  about  with  Captain  John,  and  was  shown  all  that  had 
been  done  to  the  yacht,  and  listened  in  silence. 

But  the  rest  were  noisy  enough,  calling  for  this  and  that,  hand- 
ing things  down  the  companion,  and  generally  getting  in  the  way 
of  the  steward. 

"  Well,  Fred,"  says  our  facetious  Laird,  "  have  ye  hung  up  all 
the  game  that  Mr.  Smith  brought  back  from  the  moor  yesterday  ?" 
and  Master  Fred  was  so  much  tickled  by  this  profound  joke  that 
he  had  to  go  down  into  the  forecastle  to  hide  his  grinning  de- 
light, and  went  covertly  smiling  about  his  work  for  the  next  quar- 
ter of  an  hour. 

Then  the  hubbub  gradually  ceased ;  for  the  boats  had  been 
swung  to  the  davits,  and  the  White  Dove  was  gently  slipping 


218  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 

away  from  her  moorings.  A  fine  northerly  breeze ;  a  ruffled  blue 
sea;  and  the  South  all  shining  before  her.  How  should  we  care 
whither  the  beautiful  bird  bore  us?  Perhaps  before  the  night 
fell  we  should  be  listening  for  the  singing  of  the  mermaid  of 
Colonsay. 

The  wooded  shores  slowly  drew  away ;  the  horizon  widened ; 
there  was  no  still  blue,  but  a  fine  windy  gray,  in  the  vast  plain  of 
the  sea  that  was  opening  out  before  us. 

"  Oh  yes,  mem,"  says  John  of  Skye  to  Miss  Avon.  "  I  wass 
sure  we  would  get  a  good  breeze  for  Mr.  Sutherland  when  he  will 
come  back  to  the  yat." 

Miss  Avon  does  not  answer:  she  is  looking  at  the  wide  sea, 
and  at  the  far  islands,  with  somewhat  wistful  eyes. 

"  Would  you  like  to  tek  the  tiller  now,  mem  ?"  says  the  beard- 
ed skipper,  in  his  most  courteous  tones.  "  Mr.  Sutherland  was 
aye  very  proud  to  see  ye  at  the  tiller." 

"  No,  thank  you,  John,"  she  says. 

And  then  she  becomes  aware  that  she  has — in  her  absent  mood 
— spoken  somewhat  curtly  ;  so  she  turns  and  comes  over  to  him, 
and  says,  in  a  confidential  way  : 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  John,  I  never  feel  very  safe  in  steering 
when  the  yacht  is  going  before  the  wind.  AVhen  she  is  close- 
hauled,  I  have  something  to  guide  me ;  but  with  the  wind  com- 
ing behind,  I  know  I  may  make  a  blunder  without  knowing  why." 

"  No,  no,  mem ;  you  must  not  let  Mr.  Sutherland  hear  you  say 
that,  when  he  was  so  prood  o'  learnin'  ye ;  and  there  is  no  dan- 
dier at  ahl  of  your  making  a  plunder." 

But  at  this  moment  our  young  doctor  himself  comes  on  deck; 
and  she  quickly  moves  away  to  her  camp-stool,  and  plunges  her- 
self into  a  book  ;  while  the  attentive  Mr.  Smith  provides  lier  with 
a  sun-shade  and  a  footstool.  Dr.  Sutherland  cannot,  of  course, 
interfere  with  her  diligent  studies. 

Meanwhile  our  hostess  is  below,  putting  a  few  finishing  touches 
to  the  decoration  of  the  saloon  ;  while  the  Laird,  in  the  blue- 
cushioned  recess  at  the  head  of  the  table,  is  poring  over  Munici- 
pal London.  At  length  he  raises  his  eyes,  and  says  to  his  sole 
companion, 

"  1  told  ye,  ma'am,  he  was  a  good  lad — a  biddable  lad — did  I 
not?" 

"You    are   speaking   of   your   nephew,  of  course,"  she  says. 


THE  laird's  plans.  219 

*'  Well,  it  is  very  kind  of  liim  to  offer  to  turn  out  of  his  state- 
room in  favor  of  Dr.  Sutherland ;  hut  there  is  really  no  need  for 
it.  Angus  is  much  better  accustomed  to  roughing  it  on  board  a 
yacht." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,"  says  the  Laird,  with  judicial 
gravity.  "  Howard  is  in  the  right  there  too.  He  must  insist  on 
it.  Dr.  Sutherland  is  your  oldest  friend.  Howard  is  here  on  a 
kind  of  sufferance.  I  am  sure  we  are  both  of  us  greatly  obliged 
to  ye." 

Here  there  was  the  usual  deprecation. 

"And  I  will  say,"  observes  the  Laird,  with  the  same  profound 
air,  "  that  his  conduct  since  I  sent  for  him  has  entirely  my  ap- 
proval— entirely  my  approval.  Ye  know  what  I  mean.  I  would 
not  say  a  word  to  him  for  the  world — no,  no — after  the  first  in- 
timation of  my  wishes  :  no  coercion.  Every  one  for  himself  :  no 
coercion." 

She  does  not  seem  so  overjoyed  as  might  have  been  expected. 

"Oh,  of  course  not,"  she  says.  "  It  is  only  in  plays  and  books 
that  anybody  is  forced  into  a  marriage ;  at  least  you  don't  often 
find  a  man  driven  to  marry  anybody  against  his  will.  And  in- 
deed, sir,"  she  adds,  with  a  faint  smile,  "  you  rather  frightened 
your  nephew  at  first.  He  thought  you  were  going  to  play  the 
part  of  a  stage  guardian,  and  disinherit  him  if  he  did  not  marry 
the  young  lady.  But  I  took  the  liberty  of  saying  to  him  that  you 
could  not  possibly  be  so  unreasonable.  Because,  you  know,  if 
Mary  refused  to  marry  him,  how  could  that  be  any  fault  of  his?" 

"  Precisely  so,"  said  the  Laird,  in  his  grand  manner.  "  A  most 
judeecious  and  sensible  remark.  Let  him  do  his  part,  and  I  am 
satisfied.  I  would  not  exact  impossibeelities  from  any  one,  much 
less  from  one  that  I  have  a  particular  regard  for.  And,  as  I  was 
saying,  Howard  is  a  good  lad." 

The  Laird  adopted  a  lighter  tone. 

"  Have  ye  observed,  ma'am,  that  things  are  not  at  all  unlikely 
to  turn  out  as  we  wished  ?"  he  said,  in  a  half  whisper ;  and  there 
was  a  secret  triumph  in  his  look.  "  Have  ye  observed  ?  Oh 
yes ;  young  folks  are  very  shy ;  but  their  elders  are  not  blind. 
Did  ye  ever  see  two  young  people  that  seemed  to  get  on  better 
together  on  so  short  an  acquaintance  ?" 

"Oh  yes,"  she  says,  rather  gloomily;  "they  seem  to  be  very 
good  friends." 


220  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

"  Yachting  is  a  famous  thing  for  making  people  acquainted," 
says  the  Laird,  with  increasing  delight.  "  They  know  one  another 
now  as  well  as  though  they  had  been  friends  for  years  on  the 
land.     Has  that  struck  ye  now  before?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  says.     There  is  no  delight  on  her  face. 

"It  Avill  jist  be  the  happiness  of  my  old  age,  if  the  Lord  spares 
me,  to  see  these  two  established  at  Denny-mains,"  says  he,  as  if 
he  were  looking  at  the  picture  before  his  very  eyes.  "  And  we 
have  a  fine  soft  air  in  the  west  of  Scotland ;  it's  no  like  asking  a 
young  English  leddy  to  live  in  the  bleaker  parts  of  the  north,  or 
among  the  east  winds  of  Edinburgh.  And  I  would  not  have  the 
children  sent  to  any  public  school,  to  learn  vulgar  ways  of  speech 
and  clipping  of  words.  No,  no;  I  would  wale  out  a  young  man 
from  our  Glasgow  University — one  familiar  with  the  proper  tra- 
deetions  of  the  English  language ;  and  he  will  guard  against  the 
clipping  fashion  of  the  South,  just  as  against  the  yaumering  of 
the  Edinburgh  bodies.  Ah  will  wale  him  out  maself.  But  no 
too  much  education  :  no,  no ;  that  is  the  worst  gift  ye  can  be- 
stow upon  bairns.  A  sound  constitution ;  that  is  first  and  fore- 
most. I  would  rather  see  a  lad  out  and  about  shooting  rabbits 
than  shut  up  wi'  a  pale  face  among  a  lot  of  books.  And  the 
boys  will  have  their  play,  I  can  assure  ye ;  I  will  send  that  fellow 
Andrew  about  his  business  if  he  does  na  stop  netting  and  snar- 
ing. AVhat  do  I  care  about  the  snipping  at  the  shrubs?  I  will 
put  out  turnips  on  the  verra  lawn,  jist  to  see  the  rabbits  run  about 
in  the  morning.  The  boys  shall  have  their  play  at  Denny-mains, 
I  can  assure  ye ;  more  play  than  school  hours,  or  I'm  mistaken." 

The  Laird  laughs  to  himself,  just  as  if  he  had  been  telling  a 
good  one  about  Ilomesh. 

"And  no  muzzle-loaders,"  he  continues,  with  a  sudden  serious- 
ness. "Not  a  muzzle-loader  will  I  have  put  into  their  hands. 
Many's  the  time  it  makes  me  grue  to  think  of  my  loading  a  muz- 
zle-loader when  I  was  a  boy — loading  one  barrel,  with  the  other 
barrel  on  full  cock,  and  jist  gaping  to  blow  my  fingers  off.  I'm 
thinking  Miss  Mary — though  she'll  no  be  Miss  Mary  then — will 
be  sore  put  to  when  the  boys  bring  in  thrashes  and  blackbirds 
they  hav(!  shot ;  for  she's  a  sensitive  bit  thing ;  but  what  I  say  is, 
better  let  them  shoot  thrushes  and  blackbirds  than  bring  them  up 
to  have  white  faces  ower  books.  Ah  tell  ye  this:  I'll  give  them 
a  sovereign  apiece  for  every  blackbird  they  shoot  on  the  wing." 


THE  laird's  plans.  221 

The  Laird  had  got  quite  excited ;  he  did  not  notice  that  Mu- 
nicijyal  London  was  dangerously  near  tlie  edge  of  the  table. 

"Andrew  will  not  objeck  to  the  shooting  o'  blackbirds,"  he 
said,  with  a  loud  laugh — as  if  there  were  something  of  llomcsh's 
vein  in  that  gardener.  ''  The  poor  crayture  is  just  daft  about  his 
cherries.  Tliat's  another  thing :  no  interference  with  bairns  in  a 
garden.  Let  them  steal  what  they  like.  Green  apples? — bless 
ye,  they're  tlie  life  o'  children.  Nature  puts  everything  to  rights. 
She  kens  better  than  books.  If  I  catched  the  school-master  lock- 
in'  up  the  boys  in  their  play  hours,  my  word  but  I'd  send  him 
fleein' !" 

He  was  most  indignant  with  this  school -master,  although  he 
■was  to  be  of  his  own  "  waling."  He  was  determined  that  the 
lads  should  have  their  play,  lessons  or  no  lessons.  Green  apples 
he  preferred  to  Greek.     The  dominie  would  have  to  look  out. 

"  Do  you  think,  ma'am,"  he  says,  in  an  insidious  manner — "  do 
ye  think  she  would  like  to  have  a  furnished  house  in  London  for 
pairt  of  the  year?     She  might  have  her  friends  to  see — " 

Now  at  last  this  is  too  much.  The  gentle,  small  creature  has 
been  listening  with  a  fine,  prond,  hurt  air  on  her  face,  and  with 
tears  near  to  her  eyes.  Is  it  thus  that  her  Scotch  student,  of 
whom  she  is  the  fierce  champion,  is  to  be  thrust  aside  ? 

"  ^Yhy,"  she  says,  with  an  indignant  warmth,  "you  take  it  all 
for  granted !  I  thought  it  was  a  joke.  Do  you  really  think 
your  nephew  is  going  to  marry  Mary  ?  And  Angus  Sutherland 
in  love  with  her !" 

"  God  bless  me !"  exclaimed  the  Laird,  with  such  a  start  that 
the  bulky  Municipal  London  banged  down  on  the  cabin  floor. 

Was  it  the  picking  up  of  that  huge  tome,  or  the  consciousness 
that  he  had  been  betrayed  into  an  unusual  ejaculation,  that  crim- 
soned the  Laird's  face?  When  be  sat  upright  again,  however, 
wonder  was  the  chief  expression  visible  in  his  eyes. 

"  Of  course  I  have  no  right  to  say  so,"  she  instantly  and  hur- 
riedly adds ;  "  it  is  only  a  guess — a  suspicion.  But  haven't  you 
seen  it  ?  And  until  quite  recently  I  had  other  suspicions  too. 
Why,  what  do  you  think  would  induce  a  man  in  Angus  Suther- 
land's position  to  spend  such  a  long  time  in  idleness?" 

But  by  this  time  the  Laird  had  recovered  his  equanimity.  He 
was  not  to  be  disturbed  by  any  bogie.     He  smiled  serenely. 

"  We  will  see,  ma'am  ;  we  will  see.     If  it  is  so  with  the  young 


222  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

man,  it  is  a  peety.  But  you  must  admit  yourself  that  ye  see  how 
things  are  likely  to  turn  out  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  Avith  reluctance :  she  would  not  ad- 
mit that  she  had  been  grievously  troubled  during  the  past  few 
days. 

"  Very  well,  ma'am,  very  well,"  said  the  Laird,  blithely.  "  We 
will  see  who  is  right.  I  am  not  a  gambler,  but  I  would  wager  ye 
a  gold  ring,  a  sixpence,  and  a  silver  thimble  that  I  am  no  so  far 
out.  I  have  my  eyes  open ;  oh  ay  !  Now  I  am  going  on  deck 
to  see  where  we  are." 

And  so  the  Laird  rose,  and  put  the  bulky  volume  by,  and  pass- 
ed along  the  saloon  to  the  companion.     We  heard 

"  '  Sing  tantara  !  sing  tantara  !'  " 

as  his  head  appeared.     He  was  in  a  gay  humor. 

Meanwhile  the  White  Dove,  with  all  sail  set,  had  come  along 
at  a  spanking  pace.  The  weather  threatened  change,  it  is  true ; 
there  was  a  deep  gloom  overhead ;  but  along  the  southern  hori- 
zon there  was  a  blaze  of  yellow  light  which  had  the  odd  appear- 
ance of  being  a  sunset  in  the  middle  of  the  day  ;  and  in  this  glare 
lay  the  long  blue  promontory  known  as  the  Rhinns  of  Islay,  with- 
in sight  of  the  L'ish  coast.  And  so  we  went  down  by  Easdail, 
and  past  Colipoll  and  its  slate  quarries ;  and  we  knew  this  con- 
stant breeze  would  drive  us  through  the  swirls  of  the  Doruis  Mohr 
— the  "  Great  Gate."  And  were  we  listening,  as  we  drew  near  in 
the  afternoon,  to  the  rose-purple  bulk  of  Scarba,  for  the  low  roar 
of  Corricvrechan  ?     We  knew  the  old  refrain : 

"  As  you  pass  through  Jura's  Sound 

Bend  your  course  by  Scarba's  shore ; 
Shun,  oh  shun  the  gulf  profound 

Wiicre  Corricvrechan's  surges  roar !" 

But  now  there  is  no  ominous  murmur  along  those  distant 
shores.  Silence  and  a  sombre  gloom  hang  over  the  two  islands. 
We  are  glad  to  shun  this  desolate  coast ;  and  glad  when  the 
White  Dove  is  carrying  us  away  to  the  pleasanter  south,  when, 
behold  !  behold !  another  sight !  As  we  open  out  the  dreaded 
gulf,  Corricvrechan  itself  becomes  but  an  open  lane  leading  out 
to  the  west;  and  there, beyond  the  gloom, amidst  the  golden  seas, 
lies  afar  the  music-haunted  Colonsay  !     It  is  the  calm  of  the  af- 


THE  laird's  plans.  223 

ternoon ;  the  seas  lie  golden  around  the  rocks ;  surely  the  sailors 
can  hear  her  singing  now  for  the  lover  she  lost  so  long  ago  ! 
What  is  it  that  thrills  the  brain  so,  and  fills  the  eyes  with  tears, 
when  we  can  hear  no  sound  at  all  coming  over  the  sea? 

It  is  the  Laird  who  summons  us  back  to  actualities. 

"  It  would  be  a  strange  thing,"  says  he,  "  if  Tom  Galbraith 
were  in  that  island  at  this  very  meenit.  Ah'm  sure  he  was  go- 
ing there." 

And  Captain  John  helps. 

"  I  not  like  to  go  near  Corrievrechan,"  he  says,  with  a  grin, 
"  when  there  is  a  flood-tide  and  half  a  gale  from  the  sou'-west. 
It  is  an  ahfu'  place,"  he  adds,  more  seriously — "  an  ahfu'  place." 

"  I  should  like  to  go  through,"  Angus  Sutherland  says,  quite 
inadvertently. 

"Ay,  would  ye,  sir?"  says  Captain  John,  eagerly.  "If  there 
wass  only  you  and  me  on  board,  I  would  tek  you  through  ferry 
well — with  the  wind  from  the  norrard  and  an  ebb-tide.  Oh  yes ! 
I  would  do  that ;  and  maybe  we  will  do  it  this  year  yet." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  am  likely  to  see  Corrievrechan  again  this 
year,"  said  he,  quite  quietly  —  so  quietly  that  scarcely  any  one 
heard.     But  Mary  Avon  heard. 

Well,  we  managed,  after  all,  to  bore  through  the  glassy  swirls 
of  the  Doruis  Mohr  —  the  outlying  pickets,  as  it  were,  of  the 
fiercer  whirlpools  and  currents  of  Corrievrechan  —  and  the  light 
breeze  still  continuing,  we  crept  along  in  the  evening  past  Crinan, 
and  along  the  lonely  coast  of  Knapdale,  with  the  giant  Paps  of 
Jura  darkening  in  the  west.  Night  fell ;  the  breeze  almost  died 
away;  we  turned  the  bow  of  the  White  Dove  toward  an  opening 
in  the  land,  and  the  flood-tide  gently  bore  her  into  the  wide,  si- 
lent, empty  loch.  There  did  not  seem  to  be  any  light  on  the 
shores.  Like  a  tall  gray  phantom  the  yacht  glided  through  the 
gloom ;  we  were  somewhat  silent  on  deck. 

But  there  was  a  radiant  yellow  glow  coming  through  the  sky- 
light; and  Master  Fred  has  done  his  best  to  make  the  saloon 
cheerful  enough.  And  where  there  is  supper  there  ought  to  be 
other  old-fashioned  institutions — singing,  for  example ;  and  how 
long  was  it  since  we  had  heard  anything  about  the  Queen's  Maries, 
or  "  Ho,  ro,  clansmen  !"  or  the  Irish  Brigade  I  Nobody,  how- 
ever, appeared  to  think  of  these  things.  This  was  a  silent  and 
lonely  loch,  and  the  gloom  of  night  was  over  land  and  water; 

11 


224  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTINa    ROMANCE. 

but  we  still  seemed  to  have  before  our  eyes  the  far  island  amidst 
the  golden  seas.  And  was  there  not  still  lingering  in  the  night 
air  some  faint  echo  of  the  song  of  Colonsay  ?  It  is  a  heart- 
breaking song;  it  is  all  about  the  parting  of  lovers. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A    SUNDAY    IN    FAR    SOLITUDES. 


Mary  Avon  is  seated  all  alone  on  deck,  looking  rather  wistful- 
ly around  her  at  this  solitary  Loch-na-Chill,  that  is,  the  Loch  of 
the  Burying-Place.  It  is  Sunday  morning,  and  there  is  a  more 
than  Sabbath  peace  dwelling  over  sea  and  sh.ore.  Not  a  ripple 
on  the  glassy  sea ;  a  pale  haze  of  sunshine  on  the  islands  in  the 
south ;  a  stillness  as  of  death  along  the  low-lying  coast.  A  seal 
rises  to  the  surface  of  the  calm  sea,  and  regards  her  for  a  moment 
with  his  soft  black  eyes,  then  slowly  subsides.  She  has  not  seen 
him  ;  she  is  looking  far  away. 

Then  a  soft  step  is  heard  on  the  companion  ;  and  the  manner 
of  the  girl  instantly  changes.  Are  these  tears  that  she  hastily 
brushes  aside  ?  But  her  face  is  all  smiles  to  welcome  her  friend. 
She  declares  that  she  is  charmed  with  the  still  beauty  of  this  re- 
mote and  solitary  loch. 

Then  other  figures  appear ;  and  at  last  we  are  all  summoned 
on  deck  for  morning  service.  It  is  not  an  elaborate  ceremony ; 
there  are  no  candles,  or  genuflections,  or  embroidered  altar  cloths. 
But  the  Laird  has  put  on  a  black  frock-coat,  and  the  men  have 
put  aside  their  scarlet  cowls,  and  wear  smart  sailor-looking  cloth 
caps.     Then  the  Laird  gravely  rises,  and  opens  his  book. 

Sometimes,  it  is  true,  our  good  friend  has  almost  driven  us  to 
take  notice  of  his  accent,  and  we  have  had  our  little  jokes  on 
board  about  it ;  but  you  do  not  pay  much  heed  to  these  peculiar- 
ities when  the  strong  and  resonant  voice — amidst  the  strange 
silence  of  this  Loch  of  the  Burying-Place — reads  out  the  103d 
Psalm :  "  Like  as  a  father  peetieth  his  children,"  he  may  say  ; 
but  one  does  not  lieed  that.  And  who  is  to  notice  that,  as  he 
comes  to  these  words,  lie  lifts  his  eyes  from  the  book  and  fixes 
them  for  a  moment  on  Mary  Avon's  downcast  face?  "  Likfj  as  a 
father  pitieth  his  children,  so  the  Lord  pitieth  them  that  fear  him. 


A    SUNDAY    IN    FAR    SOLITUDES.  225 

For  he  knoweth  our  frame ;  be  reraembereth  tbat  we  are  dust. 
As  for  man,  bis  days  arc  as  grass :  as  a  flower  of  tbe  field,  so  be 
flourisbetb.  For  tbe  wind  passetb  over  it,  and  it  is  gone ;  and 
tbe  place  tbcreof  sball  know  it  no  more.  But  tbe  mercy  of  tbe 
Lord  is  from  everlasting  to  everlasting  upon  tbom  tbat  fear  bim, 
and  bis  rigbteousness  unto  cbildren's  cbildren."  Tiien,  when  be 
bad  finisbed  tbe  Psalm,  be  turned  to  tbe  New  Testament,  and 
read  in  tbe  same  slow  and  reverent  manner  tbe  sixtb  cbapter  of 
Mattbew.  This  concluded  the  service ;  it  was  not  an  elabo- 
rate one. 

Then,  about  an  hour  afterward,  the  Laird,  on  being  appealed 
to  by  bis  hostess,  gave  it  as  bis  opinion  tbat  there  would  be  no 
Sabbath  desecration  at  all  in  our  going  ashore  to  examine  tbe 
ruins  of  what  appeared  to  be  an  ancient  chapel,  which  we  could 
make  out  by  tbe  aid  of  our  glasses  on  tbe  green  slope  above  the 
rocks.  And  as  our  young  friends — Angus  and  tbe  Youth — idly 
paddled  us  away  from  the  yacht,  tbe  Laird  began  to  apologize  to 
bis  hostess  for  not  having  lengthened  the  service  by  the  exposi- 
tion of  some  chosen  text. 

"Ye  see,  ma'am,"  he  observed,  "  some  are  gifted  in  tbat  way, 
and  some  not.  My  father,  now,  had  an  amazing  power  of  ex- 
pounding and  explaining — I  am  sure  there  was  nothing  in  Hutch- 
esoii's  Exposeetion  be  bad  not  in  his  memory.  A  very  famous 
man  be  was  in  those  days  as  an  Anti-Lifter — very  famous ;  there 
were  few  who  could  argue  with  him  on  that  memorable  point." 

"But  what  did  you  call  bim,  sir?"  asks  bis  hostess,  with  some 
vague  notion  tbat  the  Laird's  father  had  lived  in  tbe  days  of 
body-snatchers. 

"An  Anti-Lifter:  it  was  a  famous  controversy;  but  ye  are  too 
young  to  remember  of  it,  perhaps.  And  now  in  these  days  w^e 
are  more  tolerant,  and  rightly  so  :  I  do  not  care  whether  the  min- 
ister lifts  the'  sacramental  bread  before  distribution  or  not,  now 
that  there  is  no  chance  of  Popery  getting  into  our  Presbyterian 
Church  in  disguise.  It  is  the  speerit,  not  the  form,  that  is  of 
importance  :  our  Church  authoritatively  declares  tbat  the  eiBcacy 
of  the  sacraments  depends  not  '  upon  any  virtue  in  them  or  in 
bim  that  doth  administer  them.'  Ay;  that  is  the  cardinal  truth. 
But  in  those  days  they  considered  it  right  to  guard  against  Po- 
pery in  every  manner;  and  my  father  was  a  prominent  Anti- 
Lifter  ;  and  well  would  be  argue  and  expound  on  that  and  most 


226  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

other  doctrinal  subjects.  But  I  liave  not  much  gift  that  way," 
added  the  Laird,  modestly,  quite  forgetting  with  what  clearness 
he  had  put  before  us  the  chief  features  of  the  great  Semple  case. 

"  I  don't  think  you  have  anything  to  regret,  sir,"  said  our 
young  doctor,  as  he  carelessly  worked  the  oar  with  one  hand, 
"that  you  did  not  bother  the  brains  of  John  and  his  men  with 
any  exposition  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  Isn't  it  an  odd 
thing  that  the  common  fishermen  and  boatmen  of  the  Sea  of 
Galilee  understood  the  message  Christ  brought  them  just  at  once? 
and  nowadays,  when  we  have  millions  of  churches  built,  and  mill- 
ions of  money  being  spent,  and  tons  upon  tons  of  sermons  being 
written  every  year,  we  seem  only  to  get  further  and  further  into 
confusion  and  chaos.  Fancy  the  great  army  of  able-bodied  men 
that  go  on  expounding  and  expounding,  and  the  learning,  and 
time,  and  trouble  they  bestow  on  their  work,  and  scarcely  any 
two  of  them  agreed;  wliile  the  people  who  listen  to  them  are 
all  in  a  fog.  Simon  Peter,  and  Andrew,  and  the  sons  of  Zcbedee 
must  have  been  men  of  the  most  extraordinary  intellect.  They 
understood  at  once ;  they  were  commissioned  to  teach  ;  and  they 
had  not  even  a  Shorter  Catechism  to  go  by." 

The  Laird  looked  at  him  doubtfully.  He  did  not  know  wheth- 
er to  recognize  in  him  a  true  ally  or  not.  However,  the  mention 
of  the  Shorter  Catechism  seemed  to  suggest  solid  ground  ;  and 
he  was  just  about  entering  into  the  question  of  the  Subordinate 
Standards,  when  an  exclamation  of  rage  on  the  part  of  his  neph- 
ew startled  us.  That  handsome  lad,  during  all  this  theological 
discussion,  had  been  keeping  a  vkfatchful  and  matter-of-fact  eye 
on  a  number  of  birds  on  the  shore ;  and  now  that  we  were  quite 
close  to  the  sandy  promontory,  he  had  recognized  them. 

"  Look  !  look  !"  he  said,  in  tones  of  mingled  eagerness  and  dis- 
appointment. "  Golden  plovers,  every  one  of  them  !  Isn't  it  too 
bad?  It's  always  like  this  on  Sunday.  I  will  bet  you  won't  get 
within  half  a  mile  of  them  to-morrow." 

And  he  refused  to  be  consoled  as  we  landed  on  the  sandy 
shore,  and  found  the  golden -dusted,  long-legged  birds  running 
along  before  us,  or  flitting  from  patch  to  patch  of  the  moist 
greensward.  We  had  to  leave  him  behind  in  moody  contempla- 
tion as  we  left  the  shore,  and  .scrambled  up  the  rugged  and  rock}^ 
slope  to  the  ruins  of  this  solitary  little  chapel. 

There  was  an  air  of  repose  and  silence  about  these  crumbling 


A    SUNDAY    IX    FAR    SOLITUDES.  227 

walls  and  rusted  gates  that  was  in  consonance  with  a  habitation 
of  the  dead.  And  first  of  all,  outside,  we  came  upon  an  upright 
lona- cross,  elaborately  carved  with  strange  figures  of  men  and 
beasts.  But  inside  the  small  building,  lying  prostrate  among  the 
grass  and  weeds,  there  was  a  collection  of  those  memorials  that 
would  have  made  an  antiquarian's  heart  leap  for  joy.  It  is  to  be 
feared  that  our  guesses  about  the  meaning  of  the  emblems  on  the 
tombstones  were  of  a  crude  and  superficial  character.  Were  these 
Irish  chiefs,  those  stone  figures  with  the  long  sword  and  the  harp 
beside  them  ?  "Was  the  recurrent  shamrock  a  national  or  relig- 
ious emblem  ?  And  why  was  the  efiigy  of  this  ancient  worthy 
accompanied  by  a  pair  of  pincers,  an  object  that  looked  like  a 
tooth-comb,  and  a  winged  griffin  ?  Again,  outside,  but  still  with- 
in the  sacred  walls,  we  came  upon  still  further  tombs  of  warriors, 
most  of  them  hidden  among  the  long  grass ;  and  here  and  there 
we  tried  to  brush  the  weeds  away.  It  was  no  bad  occupation  for 
a  Sunday  morning,  in  this  still  and  lonely  burial-place  above  the 
wide  seas. 

On  going  on  board  again,  we  learned  from  John  of  Skye  that 
there  were  many  traces  of  an  ancient  ecclesiastical  colonization 
about  this  coast ;  and  that  in  especial  there  were  a  ruined  chapel 
and  other  remains  on  one  of  a  small  group  of  islands  that  we 
could  see  on  the  southern  horizon.  Accordingly,  after  luncheon, 
we  fitted  out  an  expedition  to  explore  that  distant  island.  The 
Youth  was  particularly  anxious  to  examine  these  ecclesiastical  re- 
mains; he  did  not  explain  to  everybody  that  he  had  received 
from  Captain  John  a  hint  that  the  shores  of  this  sainted  island 
swarmed  with  seals. 

And  now  the  gig  is  shoved  off ;  the  four  oars  strike  the  glassy 
water ;  and  away  we  go  in  search  of  the  summer  isles  in  the 
south.  The  Laird  settles  himself  comfortably  in  the  stern ;  it 
seems  but  natural  that  he  should  take  Mary  Avon's  hand  in  his, 
just  as  if  she  were  a  little  child. 

"And  ye  must  know.  Miss  Mary,"  he  says,  quite  cheerfully, 
"  that  if  ever  ye  should  come  to  live  in  Scotland,  ye  will  not  be 
persecuted  with  our  theology.  No,  no ;  far  from  it ;  we  respect 
every  one's  religion,  if  it  is  sincere,  though  we  cling  to  our  own. 
And  why  should  we  not  cling  to  it,  and  guard  it  from  error? 
We  have  had  to  fight  for  our  civil  and  religious  leeberties  inch 
by  inch,  foot  by  foot ;   and  we  have  won.     The  blood  of  the 


228  WHITE    ■\VINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

saints  has  not  been  shed  in  vain.  The  cry  of  the  dying  and 
wounded  on  many  a  Lanarkshire  moor — when  the  cavah'y  were 
riding  about,  and  hewing  and  slaughtering — was  not  wasted  on 
the  air.  The  Lord  heard,  and  answered.  And  we  do  well  to 
guard  what  we  liave  gained ;  and,  if  need  were,  there  are  plenty 
of  Scotsmen  alive  at  this  day  who  would  freely  spend  their  lives 
in  defending  their  own  releegion.  But  ye  need  not  fear.  These 
are  the  days  of  great  toleration.  Ye  might  live  in  Scotland  all 
your  life,  and  not  hear  an  ill  word  said  of  the  Episcopal  Church." 

After  having  given  this  solemn  assurance,  the  Laird  cast  a 
glance  of  sly  humor  at  Angus  Sutherland. 

"  I  will  confess,"  said  he,  "  when  Dr.  Sutherland  brought  that 
up  this  morning  about  Peter  and  Andrew,  and  James  and  John,  I 
was  a  bit  put  out.  But  then,"  he  added,  triumphantly,  "ye  must 
remember  that  in  those  days  they  had  not  the  inseedious  attacks 
of  Prelacy  to  guard  against.  There  was  no  need  for  them  to 
erect  bulwarks  of  the  faith.  But  in  our  time  it  is  different,  or 
rather  it  has  been  different.  I  am  glad  to  think  that  we  of  the 
Scotch  Church  are  emancipated  from  the  fear  of  Rome ;  and  I 
am  of  opeenion  that  with  the  advancing  times  they  are  in  the 
right  who  advocate  a  little  moderation  in  the  way  of  applying 
and  exacting  the  Standards.  No,  no ;  I  am  not  for  bigotry.  I 
assure  ye.  Miss  Mary,  ye  will  find  far  fewer  bigots  in  Scotland 
than  people  say." 

"  I  have  not  met  any,  sir,"  remarks  Miss  Maiy. 

"I  tell  ye  what,"  said  he,  solemnly;  "I  am  told  on  good  au- 
thority that  there  is  a  movement  among  the  U.  P.  Presbytery  to 
send  up  to  the  Synod  a  sort  of  memorial  with  regard  to  the  Sub- 
ordinate Standards — that  is,  ye  know,  the  Westminster  Confes- 
sion of  Faith  and  the  Larger  and  Shorter  Catechisms — just  hint- 
ing, in  a  mild  sort  of  way,  that  these  arc  of  human  composition, 
and  necessarily  imperfect;  and  that  a  little  amount  of — of — " 

The  Laird  could  not  bring  himself  to  pronounce  the  word 
"  laxity."     He  stammered  and  hesitated,  and  at  last  said : 

"  Well,  a  little  judeecions  liberality  of  construction — do  ye  see? 
— on  certain  jjoints  is  adniissiide,  while  clearly  defining  other 
points  on  which  the  Church  will  not  admit  of  question.  How- 
ever, as  I  was  saying,  we  have  little  fear  of  Popery  in  the  Presby- 
terian Church  now  ;  and  ye  would  have  no  need  to  fear  it  in  your 
English  Church  if  the  English  people  were  not  so  sorely  wanting 


A    SUNDAY    IN    FAR    SOLITUDES.  229 

in  humor.  If  tliey  had  any  sense  of  fun,  they  would  have  laugh- 
ed those  millinery,  play-acting  people  out  o'  their  Church  long 
ago — " 

But  at  this  moment  it  suddenly  strikes  the  Laird  that  a  fair 
proportion  of  the  people  he  is  addressing  are  of  the  despised  Eng- 
lish race ;  and  he  hastily  puts  in  a  disclaimer. 

"  I  meant  the  clergy,  of  course,"  says  he,  most  unblushingly, 
"  the  English  clergy,  as  having  no  sense  of  humor  at  all — none 
at  all.  Dear  me,  what  a  stupid  man  I  met  at  Dunoon  last  year ! 
There  were  some  people  on  board  the  steamer  talking  about  Ho- 
mesh — ye  know,  he  was  known  to  every  man  who  travelled  up 
and  down  the  Clyde — and  they  told  the  English  clergyman  about 
Homesh  wishing  he  was  a  stot.  '  Wishing  he  Avas  a  what  ?'  says 
he.  Would  ye  believe  it,  it  took  about  ten  meenutes  to  explain 
the  story  to  him  bit  by  bit ;  and  at  the  end  of  it  his  face  was  as 
blank  as  a  bannock  before  it  is  put  on  the  girdle !" 

We  could  see  the  laughter  brimming  in  the  Laird's  eyes;  he 
was  thinking  either  of  the  stot  or  some  other  stoiy  about  Homesh. 
But  his  reverence  for  Sunday  prevailed.  He  fell  back  on  the 
Standards ;  and  was  most  anxious  to  assure  Miss  Avon  that  if 
ever  she  were  to  live  in  Scotland,  she  would  suffer  no  persecution 
at  all,  even  though  she  still  determined  to  belong  to  the  Episco- 
pal Church. 

"  We  have  none  in  the  neighborhood  of  Strathgovan,"  he  re- 
marked, quite  simply  ;  "  but  ye  could  easily  drive  in  to  Glasgow  " 
— and  he  did  not  notice  the  quick  look  of  surprise  and  inquiry 
that  Angus  Sutherland  immediately  directed  from  the  one  to  the 
other.     But  Mary  Avon  was  looking  down. 

It  was  a  long  pull ;  but  by-and-by  the  features  of  the  distant 
island  became  clearer ;  and  we  made  out  an  indentation  that 
probably  meant  a  creek  of  some  sort.  But  what  was  our  sur- 
prise, as  we  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  what  we  supposed  to  be 
an  uninhabited  island,  to  find  the  top-mast  of  a  vessel  appearing 
over  some  rocks  that  guard  the  entrance  to  the  bay  ?  As  we 
pulled  into  the  still  waters,  and  passed  the  heavy  black  smack  ly- 
ing at  anchor,  perhaps  the  two  solitary  creatures  in  charge  of  her 
were  no  less  surprised  at  the  appearance  of  strangers  in  these 
lonely  waters.  They  came  ashore  just  as  we  landed.  They  ex- 
jflained,  in  more  or  less  imperfect  English,  that  they  were  lobster- 
fishers,  and  that  this  was  a  convenient  haven  for  their  smack, 

11* 


230  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

while  they  pulled  in  their  small  boat  round  the  shores  to  look 
after  the  traps.  And  if — when  the  Laird  was  not  looking — his 
hostess  privately  negotiated  for  the  sale  of  half  a  dozen  liv^e  lob- 
sters, and  if  young  Smith  also  took  a  quiet  opportunity  of  inquir- 
ing about  the  favorite  resorts  of  the  seals,  what  then  ?  Mice  will 
play  when  they  get  the  chance.  The  Laird  was  walking  on  with 
Mary  Avon,  and  was  telling  her  about  the  Culdees. 

And  all  the  time  we  wandered  about  the  deserted  island,  and 
explored  its  ruins,  and  went  round  its  bays,  the  girl  kept  almost 
exclusively  with  the  Laird,  or  with  her  other  and  gentle  friend ; 
and  Angus  had  but  little  chance  of  talking  to  her  or  walking 
with  her.  He  was  left  pretty  much  alone.  Perhaps  he  was  not 
greatly  interested  in  the  ecclesiastical  remains.  But  he  elicited 
from  the  two  lobster-fishers  that  the  hay  scattered  on  the  floor  of 
the  chapel  was  put  there  by  fishermen,  who  used  the  place  to 
sleep  in  when  they  came  to  the  island.  And  they  showed  him 
the  curious  tombstone  of  the  saint,  with  its  sculptured  elephant 
and  man  on  horseback.  Then  he  went  away  by  himself  to  trace 
out  the  remains  of  a  former  civilization  on  the  island ;  the  wither- 
ed stumps  of  a  blackthorn  hedge,  and  the  abundant  nettle.  A 
big  rat  ran  out,  the  only  visible  tenant  of  the  cruml)led  habitation. 

Meanwhile  the  others  had  climbed  to  the  summit  of  the  cen- 
tral hill ;  and  behold !  all  around  the  smooth  bays  were  black 
and  shining  objects,  like  the  bladders  used  on  fishermen's  nets. 
But  these  moved  this  way  and  that ;  sometimes  there  was  a  big 
splash  as  one  disappeared.  The  Youth  sat  and  regarded  this 
splendid  hunting  ground  with  a  breathless  interest. 

"  Fm  thinking  ye  ought  to  get  your  seal-skin  to-morrow.  Miss 
Mary,"  says  the  Laird,  for  once  descending  to  worldly  things. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  no  one  will  be  shot  for  me !"  she  said.  *'  They 
arc  such  gentle  creatures  !" 

"But  young  men  will  be  young  men,  ye  know,"  said  he,  cheer- 
fully. "  When  I  was  Howard's  age,  and  knew  I  had  a  gun  with- 
in reach,  a  sight  like  that  would  have  made  my  heart  jump." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  nephew ;  "  but  you  never  do  have  a  sight  like 
that  when  you  have  a  rifle  within  reach." 

"  Wait  till  to-morrow — wait  till  to-morrow,"  said  the  Laird, 
cheerfully.  "And  now  wc  will  go  down  to  the  boat.  It  is  a 
long  pull  back  to  the  yacht."  * 

But  the  Laird's  nephew  got  even  more  savage  as  we  rowed 


HIDDEN    SPRINGS.  231 

back  in  the  calm,  pale  twiliglit.  Those  wild-duck  would  go  whir- 
ring by  within  easy  shot,  apparently  making  away  to  the  solitudes 
of  Loch  Swen,  Then  that  grayish-yellow  thing  on  the  rocks? 
Could  it  be  a  sheep  ?  We  watched  it  for  several  minutes,  as  the 
gig  went  by  in  the  dusk;  then,  with  a  heavy  plunge  or  two,  the 
seal  iloundered  down  and  into  the  water.  The  splash  eclioed 
through  the  silence. 

"Did  you  ever  see  the  like  of  that?"  the  Youth  exclaimed, 
mortified  beyond  endurance.  "  Did  you  ever  ?  As  big  as  a  cow  ! 
And  as  sure  as  you  get  such  a  chance,  it  is  Sunday  !" 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  says  Miss  Avon.  "  I  hope  no  one  will 
shoot  a  seal  on  my  account." 

"The  seal  ought  to  be  proud  to  have  such  a  fate,"  said  the 
Laird,  gallantly.  "  Ye  are  saving  him  from  a  miserable  and  lin- 
gering death  of  cold,  or  hunger,  or  old  age.  And  whereas  in  that 
case  nobody  would  care  anything  or  see  anything  more  about 
him,  ye  give  him  a  sort  of  immortality  in  your  dining-room,  and 
ye  are  never  done  admiring  him.  A  proud  fellow  he  ought  to 
be.  And  if  the  seals  about  here  are  no  very  fine  in  their  skins, 
still  it  would  be  a  curiosity,  and  at  present  we  have  not  one  at  all 
at  Denny-mains." 

Again  this  reference  to  Denny-mains:  Angus  Sutherland  glanced 
from  one  to  the  other ;  but  what  could  he  see  in  the  dusk  ? 

Then  we  got  back  to  the  yacht :  what  a  huge  gray  ghost  she 
looked  in  the  gloom  !  And  as  we  were  all  waiting  to  get  down 
the  companion,  Angus  Sutherland  put  his  hand  on  his  hostess's 
arm  and  stayed  her. 

"  You  must  be  wrong,"  said  he,  simply.  "  I  have  offended 
her  somehow.     She  has  not  spoken  ten  words  to  me  to-day." 


CHAPTER  XXX L 

HIDDEN    SPRINGS. 


"  Well,  perhaps  it  is  better,  after  all,"  says  a  certain  person, 
during  one  of  those  opportunities  for  brief  conjugal  confidences 
that  are  somewhat  rare  on  board  ship.  She  sighs  as  she  speaks. 
"  I  thought  it  was  going  to  be  otherwise.  But  it  will  be  all  the 
better  for  Angus  not  to  marry  for  some  years  to  come.     He  has 


232  VTHiTE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

a  great  future  before  liim,  and  a  wife  would  really  be  an  encum- 
brance. Young  professional  men  should  never  marry  ;  their  cir- 
cumstances keep  on  improving,  but  they  can't  improve  their 
wives." 

All  this  is  very  clear  and  sensible.  It  is  not  always  this  per- 
son talks  in  so  matter-of-fact  a  way.  If,  however,  everything  has 
turned  out  for  the  best,  why  this  sudden  asperity  with  which  she 
adds, 

"  But  I  did  not  expect  it  of  Mary." 

And  then  again, 

"  She  might  at  least  be  civil  to  him." 

"  She  is  not  uncivil  to  him.  She  only  avoids  him." 
'  "  I  consider  that  her  open  preference  for  Howard  Smith  is  just 
a  little  bit  too  ostentatious,"  she  says,  in  rather  an  injured  way. 
"  Indeed,  if  it  comes  to  that,  she  would  appear  to  prefer  the  Laird 
to  either  of  them.  Any  stranger  would  think  she  wanted  to 
marry  Denny-mains  himself." 

"Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you,"  is  the  respectful  question, 
"  that  a  young  woman — say,  once  in  a  century — may  be  in  that 
state  of  mind  in  which  she  would  prefer  not  to  marry  anybody  ?" 

Abashed  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  There  is  a  calm  air  of  superiority 
on  her  face :  she  is  above  trifles  and  taunts. 

"  If  unmarried  women  had  any  sense,"  she  says,  "  that  would 
be  their  normal  state  of  mind." 

And  she  might  have  gone  on  enlarging  on  this  text,  only  that 
at  this  moment  Mary  Avon  comes  along  from  the  ladies'  cabin, 
and  the  morning  greetings  take  place  between  the  two  women. 
It  is  only  a  suspicion  that  there  is  a  touch  of  coldness  in  the  el- 
der woman's  manner?  Is  it  possible  that  our  love  for  Mary  Avon 
may  be  decreasing  by  ever  so  little  a  bit? 

Then  Angus  comes  down  the  companion  :  he  has  got  some 
wild  flowers ;  he  has  been  ashore.  And  surely  he  ought  to  give 
them  to  the  younger  of  the  two  women :  she  is  of  the  age  when 
such  pretty  compliments  are  a  natural  thing.  But  no.  The 
flowers  are  for  his  hostess — for  the  decoration  of  her  table;  and 
Mary  Avon  does  not  look  up  as  they  are  handed  along. 

Then  young  Mr.  Smith  loakes  his  appearance ;  he  lias  been 
ashore  too.     And  his  complaints  aijd  protests  fill  the  air. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  ?"  he  says,  appealing  more  especially  to  the 
women-folk  for  sympathy.     "Didn't  I  tell  you?     Yon  saw  all 


HIDDEN    SPRINGS.  233 

those  golden  plover  yesterday,  and  the  wild-duclc  farther  up  tlie 
loch :  there  is  not  a  sign  of  one  of  them  !  I  knew  it  would  be 
so.  As  sure  as  Monday  begins,  you  never  get  a  chance  !  1  will 
undertake  to  say  that  when  we  get  to  those  islands  where  all  the 
seals  were  yesterday,  we  sha'n't  see  one  to-day." 

"  But  are  we  to  stop  here  a  whole  day  in  order  to  let  you  go 
and  shoot  seals?"  says  his  hostess. 

"  You  can't  help  it,"  says  he,  laughing.    "  There  isn't  any  wind." 

"Angus,"  she  says  —  as  if  nobody  knew  anything  about  the 
wind  but  the  young  doctor — "is  that  so?" 

"Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  he  says.  "But  it  is  a  beautiful  day. 
You  might  make  up  a  luncheon  party,  and  have  a  picnic  by  the 
side  of  the  Saints'  Well — down  in  the  hollow,  you  know." 

"  Much  chance  I  shall  have  with  the  seals,  then  !"  remarked  the 
other  young  man,  good-naturedly  enough. 

However,  it  is  enough  that  the  suggestion  has  come  from  An- 
gus Sutherland.  A  picnic  on  the  Island  of  the  Saints  is  forth- 
with commanded  —  seals  or  no  seals.  And  while  Master  Fred, 
immediately  after  breakfast,  begins  his  preparations,  the  Laird 
helps  by  carefully  putting  a  corkscrew  in  his  pocket.  It  is  his 
invariable  custom.     We  are  ready  for  any  emergency. 

And  if  the  golden  plover,  and  mergansers,  and  seals  appear  to 
know  that  the  new,  busy,  brisk  working-days  have  begun  again, 
surely  we  ought  to  know  it  too.  Here  are  the  same  silent  shores, 
and  the  calm  blue  seas  and  blue  sky,  and  the  solitary  islands  in 
the  south — all  just  as  they  were  yesterday ;  but  we  have  a  secret 
sense  that  the  lassitude  and  idleness  of  Sunday  are  over,  and  that 
there  is  something  of  freedom  in  the  air.  The  Laird  has  no 
longer  any  need  to  keep  a  check  on  his  tongue :  those  stories 
about  Ilomesh  may  bubble  up  to  the  surface  of  his  mind  just  as 
they  please.  And  indeed  he  is  exceedingly  merry  and  facetious 
as  the  preparations  go  on  for  this  excursion.  When  at  length  he 
gets  into  the  stern  of  the  boat,  he  says  to  his  companion, 

"  'There  was  Mary  Beaton,  and  Mary  Seaton, 
And  Mary  Avon,  and  me.' 

— What  ails  ye,  lass?  I  have  not  heard  much  of  your  singing 
of  late." 

"  You  would  not  have  me  sing  profane  songs  on  Sunday  ?"  she 
says,  demurely. 


234  WHITE  wings:   a  yachting  romance. 

"  No ;  but  I  mean  long  before  Sunday.  However,"  be  says, 
cbeerfully,  and  looking  at  ber,  "  tbere  is  a  wonderful  cbange  in 
ye — wonderful !  Well  do  I  mind  tbe  day  I  first  saw  ye,  on  tbe 
quay ;  tbougb  it  seems  a  long  time  since  tben.  Ye  were  a  poor 
wbite  bit  tbing  tben ;  I  was  astonisbed ;  and  tbe  next  day  too, 
vvben  ye  were  lame  as  well,  I  said  to  myself,  '  Well,  it's  bigb  time 
tbat  bit  lass  had  a  breatb  o'  tbe  sea  air.'  And  now — wby,  ye 
just  mind  me  o'  tbe  lasses  in  tbe  Scotcb  songs — tbe  country  lasses, 
ye  know — with  tbe  fine  color  on  your  face." 

And  indeed  tbis  public  statement  did  not  tend  to  decrease  tbe 
sun-brown  tbat  now  tinged  Maiy  Avon's  cbeeks. 

"  Tbese  lads,"  said  be — no  doubt  referring  to  bis  nepbew  and 
to  Angus  Sutberland,  wbo  were  botb  laboring  at  tbe  long  oars — 
"  are  mucb  too  attentive  to  ye,  putting  ye  under  tbe  sbadow  of 
tbe  sails,  and  bringing  ye  in  parasols,  and  tbings  like  that.  No, 
no ;  don't  you  be  afraid  of  getting  sunburnt ;  it  is  a  comely 
and  wholesome  tbing :  is  it  not  reasonable  that  human  beings 
need  tbe  sunlight  as  mucb  as  plants  ?  Just  ask  your  friend  Dr. 
Sutherland  tbat;  tbougb  a  man  can  guess  as  mucb  without  a 
microscope.  Keep  ye  in  tbe  sun.  Miss  Mary ;  never  mind  the 
brown  on  your  cbeeks,  whatever  the  young  men  say  :  I  can  tell 
ye  ye  are  looking  a  great  deal  better  now  than  when  ye  stepped 
on  shore — a  shilpit  pale  bit  thing — on  tbat  afternoon." 

Miss  Avon  bad  not  been  in  the  habit  of  receiving  lectures  like 
this  about  ber  complexion,  and  sbe  seemed  rather  confused ;  but 
fortunately  tbe  measured  noise  of  the  rowlocks  prevented  tbe 
younger  men  from  overbearing. 

"  '  Tlicre  was  Mary  Reaton,  and  Mary  Scaton, 
And  Mary  Avon,  and  nio,' " 

continued  tbe  Laird,  in  his  facetious  way  ;  and  he  contentedly 
patted  tbe  hand  of  the  girl  beside  him.  "I  fear  I  am  growing 
very  fond  of  idleness." 

"  I  am  sure,  sir,  you  arc  so  busy  during  tbe  rest  of  tbe  year," 
says  tbis  base  flatterer, "  that  you  should  be  able  to  enjoy  a  holi- 
day with  a  clear  conscience." 

"  Well,  perhaps  so — perhaps  so,"  said  tbe  Laird,  wbo  was  great- 
ly pleased,  "And  yet,  let  one  work  as  bard  as  one  can,  it  is  sin- 
gular how  little  one  can  do,  and  what  little  thanks  ye  get  for  do- 
ing it.     I  am  sure  those  people  in  Stratbgovan  spend  half  their 


HIDDEN    SPRINGS.  235 

lives  ill  fault-finding,  and  expect  ye  to  do  everything  they  can 
think  of  without  asking  them  for  a  farthing.  At  the  last  meet- 
ing of  the  rate-payers  in  the  Burgh  Hall  I  heckled  them,  I  can  tell 
ye  !  I  am  not  a  good  speaker — no,  no;  far  from  it ;  but  I  can  speak 
plain.  I  use  words  that  can  be  driven  into  people's  heads ;  and 
I  will  say  this,  that  some  o'  those  people  in  Strathgovan  have  a 
skull  of  most  extraordinar'  thickness.  But  said  I  to  them  :  'Do 
ye  expect  us  to  work  miracles?  Are  we  to  create  things  out  of 
nothing?  If  the  rates  are  not  to  be  increased,  where  are  the 
new  gas -lamps  to  come  from?  Do  ye  think  we  can  multiply 
gas-lamps  as  the  loaves  and  fishes  were  multiplied  V  Fm  think- 
ing," added  the  Laird,  with  a  burst  of  hearty  laughter,  "  that  the 
thickest-skulled  of  them  all  understood  that — eh  ?" 

"  I  should  hope  so,"  remarked  Miss  Avon. 

Then  the  measured  rattle  of  the  oars :  it  wants  hard  pulling 
against  this  fiercely  running  tide ;  indeed,  to  cheat  it  in  a  meas- 
ure, we  have  to  keep  working  along  the  coast  and  across  the 
mouth  of  Loch  Swen. 

"  '  There  was  Mary  Beaton,  and  Mary  Seaton, 
And  Mary  Avon,  and  me,'  " 

says  the  Laird,  as  a  playful  introduction  to  another  piece  of  talk- 
ing. "  I  have  been  asking  myself  once  or  twice  whether  I  knew 
any  one  in  the  whole  kingdom  of  Scotland  better  than  you." 

"Than  me,  sir?"  she  says,  with  a  start  of  surprise. 

"  Yes,"  he  says,  sententiously.  "  That  is  so.  And  I  have  had 
to  answer  myself  in  the  naygative.  It  is  wonderful  how  ye  get 
to  know  a  person  on  board  a  yacht.  I  just  feel  as  if  I  had  spent 
years  and  years  with  ye  ;  so  that  there  is  not  any  one  I  know  with 
whom  I  am  better  acquaint.  AVhen  ye  come  to  Denny-mains,  I 
shall  be  quite  disappointed  if  ye  look  surprised  or  strange  to  the 
place.  I  have  got  it  into  my  head  that  ye  must  have  lived  there 
all  your  life.  Will  ye  undertake  to  say,"  he  continues,  in  the 
same  airy  manner,  "  that  ye  do  not  know  the  little  winding  path 
that  goes  up  through  the  trees  to  the  flag-staff — eh  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  don't  remember  it,"  she  says,  with  a  smile. 

"  Wait  till  ye  see  the  sunsets  ye  can  see  from  there !"  he  says, 
proudly.  "  We  can  see  right  across  Glasgow  to  Tennants'  Stalk ; 
and  in  the  afternoon  the  smoke  is  all  turning  red  and  brown 
with  the  sunset — raany's  and  many's  the  time  I  have  taken  Tom 


236  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

Galbraith  to  the  hill,  and  aslced  him  whether  they  have  finer  sun- 
sets at  Naples  or  Venice.  No,  no ;  give  me  fire  and  smoke  and 
meestery  for  a  strong  sunset.  But  just  the  best  time  of  the  year, 
as  ye'll  find  out" — and  here  he  looked  in  a  kindly  way  at  the 
girl — "  where  there  is  a  bit  wood  near  the  house,  is  the  spring- 
time. When  ye  see  the  primroses  and  the  bluebells  about  the 
roots  of  the  trees — when  ye  see  them  so  clear  and  bright  among 
the  red  of  the  withered  leaves  —  well,  ye  cannot  help  thinking 
about  some  of  our  old  Scotch  songs,  and  there's  something  in  that 
that's  just  like  to  bring  the  tears  to  your  een.  We  have  a  won- 
derful and  great  inheritance  in  these  songs,  as  ye'll  find  out,  my 
lass.  You  English  know  only  of  Burns ;  but  a  Scotchman  who  is 
familiar  with  the  w\iys  and  the  feelings  and  the  speech  of  the 
peasantry  has  a  sort  o'  uncomfortable  impression  that  Burns  is  at 
times  just  a  bit  artifeecial  and  leeterary,  especially  when  he  is 
masquerading  in  fine  English,  though  at  other  times  ye  get  the 
real  lilt  —  what  a  man  would  sing  to  himself  when  he  was  all 
alone  at  the  plough,  in  the  early  morning,  and  listening  to  the 
birds  around  him.  But  there  are  others  that  we  are  proud  of  too 
— Tannahill,  and  John  Mayne,  that  wrote  about '  Logan  Braes,'  and 
Hogg,  and  Motherwell :  I'm  sure  o'  this,  that  when  ye  read  I\Ioth- 
erwell's  '  Jeanie  Morrison,'  ye'll  no  be  able  to  go  on  for  greetin'." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  !"  said  Miss  Avon. 

But  the  Laird  is  too  intent  on  recalling  some  of  the  lines  to 
notice  that  she  has  not  quite  understood  him. 

"  They  were  school-mates,"  he  says,  in  an  absent  way.  "  When 
school  was  over,  they  wandered  away  like  lad  and  lass;  and  he 
writes  the  poem  in  after-life,  and  speaks  to  her  he  has  never  seen 

since : 

"  '  Oh,  luiml  yo,  hive,  how  aft  we  left 
The  deavin',  dinsomc  toun, 
To  wander  by  the  green  burn-side, 

And  hear  its  waters  croon  ? 
The  simmer  leaves  Inmg  ower  our  heads, 

Tlic  flowers  burst  round  our  feet ; 
And  in  the  gloamin'  o'  the  wood 
The  throssil  whusslit  sweet. 
****** 

"'And  on  the  knowc  almiie  the  burn 
For  liours  tliegither  sat 
In  tlie  silentness  o'  joy,  till  baith 
Wi'  very  gladness  grat. 


HIDDEN    SPRINGS.  237 

Ay,  ay,  dear  Jeanie  Morrison, 

Tears  triukled  doun  your  cheek, 
Like  dew-beads  on  a  rose ;  yet  nane 

Had  ony  power  to  speak.'  " 

The  Laird's  voice  faltered  for  a  moment ;  but  lie  pretended  he 
had  great  difficulty  in  remembering  the  poem,  and  confessed  that 
he  must  have  mixed  up  the  verses.  However,  he  said  he  remem- 
bered the  last  one. 

"  '  0  dear,  dear  Jeanie  Morrison, 

Since  we  were  sundered  young 
I've  never  seen  your  face,  uor  heard 

The  music  of  your  tongue  ; 
But  I  could  hug  all  wretchedness, 

And  happy  could  I  dee, 
Did  I  but  ken  your  heart  still  dreamed 

0'  by-gane  days  and  me.'  " 

Just  as  he  finished,  the  old  Laird  turned  aside  his  head.  He 
seemed  to  be  suddenly  interested  in  something  over  at  the  mouth 
of  Loch  Swen.  Then  he  quickly  passed  his  red  silk  handker- 
chief across  his  face,  and  said,  in  a  gay  manner,  though  he  was 
still  looking  in  that  alien  direction  : 

"  This  is  a  desperate  hard  pull.  We  had  nothing  like  this  yes- 
terday. But  it  will  do  the  lads  good ;  it  will  take  the  stiffness 
out  of  their  backs." 

However,  one  of  the  lads — to  wit,  the  Laird's  nephew — admit- 
ted at  length  that  he  had  had  quite  enough  of  it,  and  gave  up  his 
oar  to  the  man  he  had  relieved.  Then  he  came  into  the  stern,  and 
was  very  pleasant  and  talkative;  and  said  he  had  quite  made  up  his 
mind  to  find  all  the  seals  gone  from  the  shores  of  the  sacred  island. 

So  formidable,  indeed,  was  the  tide,  that  we  had  to  keep  well 
away  to  the  south  of  the  i.sland  before  venturing  to  make  across 
for  it ;  and  when  at  length  we  did  put  the  bow  straight  for  the 
little  harbor,  the  mid-channel  current  swept  us  away  northward, 
as  if  the  gig  had  been  a  bit  of  cork.  But  the  four  oars  kept 
manfully  to  their  work;  and  by  dint  of  hard  pulling  and  pertina- 
cious steering  we  managed  to  run  into  the  little  bay. 

We  found  it  quite  deserted.  The  two  lobster-fishers  had  left 
in  the  morning ;  w'e  were  in  sole  possession  of  this  lonely  island, 
set  amidst  the  still  summer  seas. 

But  by  this  time  it  was  nearly  noon  ;  and  so  it  was  arranged 


238  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

that  the  men  of  the  party  should  content  themselves  with  a  pre- 
liminary expedition,  to  find  out,  by  stealthy  crawlings  out  to  the 
various  bays,  where  the  seals  were  chiefly  congregated,  while  the 
women  were  to  remain  by  the  Saints'  Well,  to  help  Fred  to  get 
luncheon  spread  out  and  arranged.  And  this  was  done ;  and 
thus  it  happened  that,  after  Master  Fred  had  finished  his  work, 
and  retired  down  to  his  mates  in  the  gig,  the  two  women-folk 
were  left  alone. 

"  Why,  Mary,"  said  the  one  of  them,  quite  cheerfully  (as  we 
afterward  heard),  "  it  is  quite  a  long  time  since  you  and  I  had  a 
chat  together." 

"  Yes,  it  is." 

"  One  gets  so  often  interfered  with  on  board,  you  know. 
Aren't  you  going  to  begin  now  and  make  a  sketch  ?" 

She  had  brought  with  her  her  sketching  materials  ;  but  they 
were  lying  unopened  on  a  rock  hard  by. 

"  No,  I  think  not,"  she  said,  listlessly. 

"What  is  the  matter  witli  you?"  said  her  kind  friend,  pretend- 
ing to  laugh  at  her.  "  I  believe  you  are  fretting  over  the  loss  of 
the  money,  after  all." 

"Oh  no:  I  hope  you  do  not  think  I  am  fretting,"  said  she, 
anxiously.  "No  one  has  said  that?  I  am  really  quite  content; 
I  am  very — happy." 

She  managed  to  say  the  word. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  her  friend  ;  "  but  I  have  a 
great  mind  to  scold  you  all  the  same." 

The  girl  looked  up.  Her  friend  went  over  to  her,  and  sat 
down  beside  her,  and  took  lier  hand  in  hers. 

"Don't  be  offended,  Mary,"  she  said,  good  -  naturedly.  "I 
liave  no  right  to  interfere  ;  but  Angus  is  an  old  friend  of  mine. 
Why  do  you  treat  him  like  that?" 

The  girl  looked  at  her  with  a  sort  of  quick,  frightened,  inquir- 
ing ghmcc ;  and  then  said,  as  if  she  were  almost  afraid  to  hear 
herself  speak, 

"  Has  he  spoken  to  you  ?" 

"Yes.  Now  don't  make  a  molehill  into  a  mountain,  Mary. 
If  he  has  offended  you,  tell  him.  l>e  frank  with  liim.  He 
would  not  vex  you  for  the  world  :  do  you  think  ho  would?" 

The  girl's  hand  was  beginning  to  tremble  a  good  deal ;  and 
lier  face  was  white,  and  piteous. 


A    CONFESSION.  239 

"  If  you  only  knew  him  as  well  as  I  do,  you  would  know  lie  is 
as  gentle  as  a  child :  he  would  not  offend  any  one.  Now  you 
will  be  friends  with  him  again,  Mary  V 

The  answer  was  a  strange  one.  The  girl  broke  into  a  fit  of 
wild  crying,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  friend's  bosom,  and  sobbed 
there  so  that  her  whole  frame  was  shaken  with  the  violence  of 
her  misery. 

"  Mary,  what  is  it  ?"  said  the  other,  in  great  alarm. 

Then,  by -and -by,  the  girl  rose,  and  went  away  over  to  her 
sketching  materials  for  a  minute  or  two.  Then  she  returned : 
lier  face  still  rather  white,  but  with  a  certain  cold  and  determined 
look  on  it. 

"  It  is  all  a  mistake,"  said  she,  speaking  very  distinctly.  "  Dr. 
Sutherland  has  not  offended  me  in  the  least:  please  tell  him  so 
if  he  speaks  again.     I  hope  we  shall  always  be  good  friends." 

She  opened  out  her  color-box. 

"  And  then,"  said  she,  with  an  odd  laugh,  "  before  you  think 
I  have  gone  crazed,  please  remember  it  isn't  every  day  one  loses 
such  an  enormous  fortune  as  mine." 

She  began  to  get  her  other  sketching  things  ready.  And  she 
was  very  cheerful  about  it,  and  very  busy ;  and  she  was  heard  to 
be  singing  to  herself, 

"  '  Then  fill  up  a  bumper  :  what  can  I  do  less 

Than  drink  to  the  health  of  my  bonny  Black  Bess  ?'  " 

But  her  friend,  w-hen  by  chance  she  turned  her  head  a  little  bit, 
perceived  that  the  pale  and  piteous  face  was  still  wet  with  tears ; 
and  the  praises  of  Black  Bess  did  not  wholly  deceive  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A    CONFESSION. 


What  could  the  solitary  scouts,  coming  back  from  the  various 
points  of  the  island,  know  of  this  quick,  unwilling  cry  of  pain, 
and  of  the  forced  calm  that  followed  it?  They  had  their  own 
sorrows.  There  was  a  gloom  upon  their  faces.  One  and  all  bore 
the  same  story  —  not  a  seal,  not  a  wild-duck,  not  even  a  rock- 
pigeon,  anywhere. 


240  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

"But  it  is  a  fine  thing  to  be  able  to  straighten  one's  back," 
says  the  Laird,  who  always  seizes  on  the  cheerful  side;  "and  we 
have  not  given  up  hope  of  your  getting  the  seal-shin  yet,  Miss 
Mary — no,  no.  The  doctor  says  they  are  away  hunting  just  now; 
when  the  tide  gets  low  again  they  will  come  up  on  the  rocks. 
So  the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  spend  plenty  of  time  over  our 
luncheon,  and  cross  the  island  again  in  the  afternoon.  Ay ;  be- 
gun already  ?"  adds  the  Laird,  as  he  goes  up  to  the  canvas,  and 
regards  the  rough  outlines  in  charcoal  with  a  critical  air.  "  Very 
good!  very  good!"  he  says,  following  the  lines  with  his  thumb, 
and  apparently  drawing  in  the  air.  "  Excellent !  The  compo- 
seetion  very  clever  indeed — simple,  bold,  striking.  And  a  fine 
blaze  of  color  ye'll  have  on  a  day  like  this ;  and  then  the  heavy 
black  hull  of  the  smack  bang  in  the  foreground:  excellent!  ex- 
cellent !  But  if  I  were  you,  I  would  leave  out  that  rock  there ; 
ye  would  get  a  better  sweep  of  the  sea.  Don't  distract  the  eye 
in  sea-pieces;  bold  lines  —  firm,  sound  color,  and  there  ye  are. 
Well,  my  lass,  ye  have  the  skill  of  constructing  a  picture.  Tom 
Galbraith  himself  would  admit  that,  I  know — " 

But  here  the  Laird  is  called  away  by  his  hostess. 

"  I  would  advise  you,  sir,"  says  she,  "  to  have  some  luncheon 
while  you  can  get  it.  It  is  a  very  strange  thing,  with  all  you 
gentlemen  on  board,  and  with  all  those  guns  laying  about,  but  we 
are  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  to  starvation.  I  wish  you  would 
give  up  hunting  seals,  and  shoot  something  useful." 

Here  our  young  doctor  appears  with  certain  bottles  that  have 
been  cooling  in  the  water. 

"  There  must  be  plenty  of  rock-pigeons  in  the  caves  we  passed 
this  morning,  on  the  other  island,"  he  says. 

"Oh,  not  those  beautiful  birds !"  says  she  of  the  empty  larder. 
"We  cannot  have  llurlingham  transported  to  the  Highlands." 

"Whoever  tries  to  shoot  those  pigeons  won't  find  it  a  llurling- 
ham business,"  he  remarks. 

But  the  Laird  has  a  soul  above  luncheons,  and  larders,  and 
pigeon-shooting.     lie  is  still  profoundly  absorbed  in  thought. 

"No,"  he  says,  at  length,  to  the  young  lady  who,  as  usual,  is 
by  his  side,     "  I  am  wrong." 

She  looks  up  at  him  with  some  surprise. 

"  Yes,  I  am  wrong,"  he  says,  decisively.  "  Ye  must  keep  in 
that  island.     Ye  must  sacrifice  picturesqucness  to  truth.     Never 


A    CONFESSION.  241 

mind  the  picture  :  keep  the  faithful  record.  In  after-life  ye  will 
be  able  to  get  plenty  of  pictures ;  but  ye  may  not  be  able  to  get 
an  exact  record  of  the  things  ye  saw  when  ye  were  sailing  with 
the  White  Dover 

"  Well,  you  know,  sir,"  observes  Miss  Avon,  with  a  somewhat 
embarrassed  smile,  "  you  don't  give  me  much  encouragement. 
You  always  speak  as  if  I  were  to  be  compelled  to  keep  those 
sketches.     Am  I  to  find  nobody  silly  enough  to  buy  them  ?" 

Now,  somehow  or  other,  of  late  the  Laird  has  been  more  and 
more  inclined  to  treat  this  sale  of  Mary  x\von's  pictures  as  a  most 
irresistible  joke.  He  laughs  and  chuckles  at  the  mere  mention 
of  such  a  thing,  just  as  if  Homesh  were  somewhere  about. 

"  Sell  them  !"  he  says,  with  another  deep  chuckle.  "  Ye  will 
never  sell  them.  Ye  could  not  have  the  heart  to  part  with 
them." 

"The  heart  has  to  be  kept  in  proper  subjection,"  says  she, 
lightly,  "  when  one  has  to  earn  one's  living." 

Queen  Titania  glances  quickly  at  the  girl ;  but  apparently 
there  is  no  profound  meaning  concealed  in  this  speech.  Miss 
Avon  has  taken  her  seat  on  a  shelving  piece  of  gray  rock ;  and  if 
she  is  concerned  about  anything,  it  is  about  the  safety  of  certain 
plates  and  knives,  and  such  things.  Her  hand  is  quite  steady  as 
she  holds  out  her  tumbler  for  the  Youth  to  pour  some  water  into 
the  claret. 

Luncheon  over,  she  returns  to  her  work ;  and  the  band  of  seal- 
hunters,  taking  to  cigars  and  pipes,  sit  and  watch  the  tide  slowly 
ebb  away  from  the  golden-brown  sea-weed.  Then,  with  many  a 
caution  as  to  patience  and  silence,  they  rise  and  get  their  guns, 
and  set  out.  Already  there  is  a  disposition  to  slouch  the  head 
and  walk  timidly,  though  as  yet  there  is  no  need  of  any  pre- 
caution. 

"  GliichUche  Reiser  says  Miss  Avon,  pleasantly,  as  we  pass. 

Angus  Sutherland  starts,  and  turns  his  head.  But  the  saluta- 
tion was  not  for  him  ;  it  was  meant  for  the  Youth,  who  is  un- 
derstood to  be  the  most  eager  of  the  seal -hunters.  And  Mr. 
Smith,  not  having  his  answer  pat,  replies,  "  I  hope  so,"  and  then 
looks  rather  confused  as  he  passes  on,  carefully  stooping  his  head, 
though  there  is  no  occasion  whatever. 

Then,  by  following  deep  gullies  and  crawling  over  open  ledges, 
we  reach  points  commanding  the  various  bays ;  and  with  the  ut- 


242  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

most  caution  peer  over  or  round  the  rocks.  And  whereas  yes- 
terday, being  Sunday,  the  bays  were  alive  with  seals,  disporting 
themselves  freely  in  full  view  of  a  large  party  of  people  who  were 
staring  at  them,  to-day,  being  Monday,  finds  not  a  seal  visible 
anywhere,  though  every  one  is  in  hiding,  and  absolute  silence 
must  have  reigned  in  the  island  since  ever  the  lobster-fishers  left 
in  the  morning.  No  matter;  the  tide  is  still  ebbing;  the  true 
hunter  must  possess  his  soul. 

And  yet  this  lying  prone  for  hours  on  a  ledge  of  exceedingly 
rough  rock  must  have  been  monotonous  work  for  our  good 
friend  the  Laird.  Under  his  nose,  nothing  to  look  at  but  scraps 
of  orange  lichen  and  the  stray  feathers  of  sea-birds ;  abroad,  noth- 
ing but  the  glassy  blue  sea,  with  the  pale  mountains  of  Jura  ris- 
ing into  the  cloudless  sky.  At  last  it  seemed  to  become  intol- 
erable. We  could  see  him  undergoing  all  sorts  of  contortions  in 
the  effort  to  wrest  something  out  of  his  coat  pocket  without  rais- 
ing any  portion  of  his  body  above  the  line  of  cover.  He  himself 
was  not  unlike  a  gray  seal  in  the  shadow  of  the  rock,  especially 
when  he  twisted  and  turned  himself  about  without  rising  an  inch 
from  the  surface.  And  in  time  he  succeeded.  We  could  see 
him  slowly  and  carefully  unfold  that  newspaper — probably  not 
more  than  a  week  old — just  beneath  his  face.  He  had  no  need 
of  spectacles :  his  eyes  were  almost  touching  the  page.  And  then 
we  knew  that  he  w^as  at  rest,  and  the  hard  rock  and  the  seals  all 
forgotten.  For  we  took  it  that  this  local  paper  was  one  which  had 
written  a  most  important  leading  article  about  the  proposed  pub- 
lic park  for  Strathgovan,  calling  upon  the  rate-payers  to  arise  and 
assert  their  rights,  and  put  a  check  on  the  reckless  extravagance 
of  the  Commissioners.  The  Laird  himself  was  openly  pointed 
at  as  one  who  would  introduce  the  luxury  of  the  later  Romans 
into  a  sober  Scotch  community ;  and  there  were  obscure  refer- 
ences to  those  who  seemed  to  consider  that  a  man's  dwelling- 
house  should  become  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  museum  of 
pictures  and  statues,  while  they  would  apply  taxes  raised  from 
a  hard-working  population  in  the  aduriHuent  of  places  of  recrea- 
tion for  the  idle.  But  do  you  think  that  the  Laird  was  appalled 
by  this  fierce  onslaught  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  He  had  read  and  re- 
read it  to  us  with  delight.  He  had  triumphantly  refuted  the 
writer's  sophistries;  lie  had  exposed  his  ignorance  of  the  most 
elementary  facts  in  political  economy  ;  he  was  always  rejoiced 


A    CONFESSION.  243 

to  appear  before  Tom  Galbraitli  and  Mary  Avon  as  one  who  was 
not  afraid  to  suffer  for  his  cbampionsliip  of  art.  And  then,  when 
he  had  triumphed  over  his  enemy,  he  would  fold  the  paper  with 
a  sort  of  contented  sigh,  and  would  say,  with  a  compassionate 
air,  "  Poor  crayture  ! — poor  crayturc  !"  as  if  the  poor  crayturc 
could  not  be  expected  to  know  any  better. 

At  last — at  last !  The  Laird  makes  frantic  gestures  with  his 
newspaper — all  the  more  frantic  that  they  have  to  be  strictly  lat- 
eral, and  that  he  dare  not  raise  his  hand.  And  behold !  far  away 
out  there  on  the  still  blue  surface  a  smooth  round  knob,  shining 
and  black.  AVithout  a  muscle  moving,  eager  eyes  follow  that 
distant  object.  The  seal  is  not  alarmed  or  suspicious ;  he  sails 
evenly  onward,  seldom  looking  to  right  or  left.  And  when  he 
disappears  there  is  no  splash;  he  has  had  enough  of  breathing; 
he  is  off  for  his  hunting  in  the  deep  seas. 

What  is  more,  he  remains  there.  We  catch  no  further  trace 
of  him,  nor  of  any  other  living  thing  around  those  deserted  bays. 
Human  nature  gives  in.  The  Youth  gets  up  and  boldly  displays 
himself  on  a  promontory,  his  gun  over  his  shoulder.  Then  the 
Laird,  seeing  that  everything  is  over,  gets  up  too,  yawning  dread- 
fully, and  folds  his  newspaper  and  puts  it  in  his  pocket. 

"  Come  along !"  he  calls  out.  "  It  is  no  use.  The  saints  have 
taught  the  seals  tricks.  They  know  better  than  to  come  near  on 
a  working-day." 

And  so  presently  the  sombre  party  sets  out  again  for  the  other 
side  of  the  island,  where  the  gig  awaits  us.  Not  a  word  is  said. 
Cartridges  arc  taken  out ;  we  pick  our  way  through  the  long 
grass  and  the  stones.  And  when  it  is  found  that  Miss  Avon  has 
roughed  in  all  that  she  requires  of  her  present  study,  it  is  gloomi- 
ly suggested  that  we  might  go  back  by  way  of  the  other  island, 
that  so  haply  we  might  secure  the  materials  for  a  pigeon-pie  be- 
fore returning  to  the  yacht. 

The  evening  sun  was  shining  ruddily  along  the  face  of  the 
cliffs  as  we  drew  near  the  other  island;  and  there  was  no  sign  of 
life  at  all  about  the  lonely  shores  and  the  tall  caves.  But  there 
was  another  story  to  tell  when,  the  various  guns  having  been 
posted,  the  Youth  boldly  walked  up  to  the  mouth  of  the  largest 
of  the  caves,  and  shouted.  Presently  there  were  certain  flashes 
of  blue  things  in  the  mellow  evening  light;  and  the  sharp  bang! 
bang !  of  the  gun,  that  echoed  into  the  great  hollows.     Hurling- 


244  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

liam?  That  did  not  seem  much  of  a  Hurlingham  performance. 
There  were  no  birds  standing  bewildered  on  the  fallen  trap,  won- 
dering whether  to  rise  or  not ;  but  there  were  things  coming 
whizzing  through  the  air  that  resembled  nothing  so  much  as 
rifle-bullets  with  blue  wings.  The  Youth,  it  is  true,  got  one  or 
two  easy  shots  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave ;  but  when  the  pigeons 
got  outside,  and  came  flashing  over  the  heads  of  the  others,  the 
shooting  was,  on  the  whole,  a  hap-hazard  business.  Nevertheless, 
we  got  a  fair  number  for  Master  Fred's  larder,  after  two  of  the 
men  had  acted  as  retrievers  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour  among 
the  rocks  and  bushes.  Then  away  again  for  the  solitary  vessel 
lying  in  the  silent  loch,  with  the  pale  mists  stealing  over  the 
land,  and  the  red  sun  sinking  behind  the  Jura  hills. 

Again,  after  dinner,  amidst  the  ghostly  grays  of  the  twilight, 
we  went  forth  on  another  commissariat  excursion,  to  capture  fish. 
Strange  to  say,  however,  our  doctor,  though  he  was  learned  on 
the  subject  of  flies  and  tackle,  preferred  to  remain  on  board :  he 
had  some  manuscript  to  send  off  to  London.  And  his  hostess 
said  she  would  remain  too ;  she  always  has  plenty  to  do  about 
the  saloon.  Then  we  left  the  White  Dove,  and  rowed  away  to 
the  rocks. 

But  the  following  conversation,  as  we  afterward  heard,  took 
place  in  our  absence : 

"  I  wished  very  much  to  speak  to  you,"  said  Angus  Sutherland 
to  his  hostess,  without  making  any  movement  to  bring  out  his  desk. 

"I  thought  so,"  said  she,  not  without  a  little  nervous  appre- 
hension. 

And  then  she  said,  quickly,  before  he  could  begin  : 

"  Let  me  tell  you  at  once,  Angus,  tliat  I  have  spoken  to  Mary. 
Of  course  I  don't  wish  to  interfere ;  I  wouldn't  interfere  for  the 
world ;  but — but  I  only  asked  her,  lest  there  should  be  any  un- 
pleasant misapprehension,  whether  she  had  any  reason  to  be  of- 
fended with  you.  '  None  in  the  least,'  she  said.  She  was  most 
positive.  She  even  seemed  to  be  deei)ly  pained  by  the  misun- 
derstanding, and — and  wished  me  to  let  you  know  ;  so  you  must 
dismiss  that  from  your  mind,  anyway." 

lie  listened  thoughtfully,  without  saying  anything.  At  last 
he  said : 

"I  have  determined  to  be  quite  frank  with  you.  I  am  going 
to  tell  you  a  secret — if  it  is  a  secret." 


A    CONFESSION.  '245 

"  I  have  guessed  it,"  she  said,  quickly,  to  spare  him  pain. 

"I  thought  so,"  he  said,  quite  quietly.  "Well,  I  am  not 
ashamed  of  it.  I  have  no  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  it.  But 
since  you  know,  you  will  see  that  it  would  be  very  embarrassing 
for  me  to  remain  longer  on  board  the  yacht  if — if  there  was  no 
hope." 

He  turned  over  the  leaves  of  a  guide-book  rapidly,  without 
looking  at  them ;  the  hard  -  headed  doctor  had  not  much  com- 
mand over  himself  at  this  moment. 

"  If  you  have  guessed,  why  not  she  ?"  he  said,  in  a  somewhat 
hurried  and  anxious  manner.  "And — and  if  I  am  to  go,  better 
that  I  should  know  at  once.  I — I  have  nothing  to  complain  of 
— I  mean  I  have  nothing  to  reproach  her  with  ;  if  it  is  a  misfort- 
une, it  is  a  misfortune  ;  but — but  she  used  to  be  more  friendly 
toward  me." 

These  two  were  silent.  What  was  passing  before  their  minds? 
The  long  summer  evenings  in  the  far  northern  seas,  with  the 
glory  dying  in  the  west ;  or  the  moonlight  walks  on  the  white 
deck,  with  the  red  star  of  Ushinish  Light-house  burning  in  the 
south  ;  or  the  snug  saloon  below,  with  its  cards,  and  candles,  and 
laughter,  and  Mary  Avon  singing  to  herself  the  song  of  Ulva? 
She  sung  no  song  of  Ulva  now. 

"  Mary  and  I  are  very  intimate  friends,"  says  the  other,  de- 
liberately. "  I  will  say  nothing  against  her.  Girls  have  curi- 
ous fancies  about  such  things  sometimes.  But  I  must  admit — 
for  you  are  my  friend  too — that  I  am  not  surprised  you  should 
have  been  encouraged  by  her  manner  to  you  at  one  time,  or  that 
you  should  wonder  a  little  at  the  change." 

But  even  this  mild  possibility  of  Mary  Avon's  being  in  the 
wrong  she  feels  to  be  incompatible  with  her  customary  cham- 
pionship of  her  friend ;  and  so  she  instantly  says : 

"Mind,  I  am  certain  of  this  —  that  whatever  Mary  does,  she 
believes  to  be  right.  Her  notion  of  duty  is  extraordinarily  sen- 
sitive and  firm.  Once  she  has  put  anything  before  her  as  the 
proper  thing  to  be  done,  she  goes  straight  at  it,  and  nothing  will 
turn  her  aside.  And  although  there  is  something  about  it  I  can't 
quite  understand,  how  am  I  to  interfere  ?  Interference  never  does 
any  good.     Why  do  not  you  ask  her  yourself  ?" 

"I  mean  to  do  so,  when  I  get  the  chance,"  said  he,  simply. 
"  I  merely  wished  to  tell  you  that  if  her  answer  is  '  No,'  it  will 

12 


246  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

be  better  for  me  to  leave  you.  Already  I  fancy  my  being  on 
board  the  yaclit  is  a  trouble  to  her.  I  will  not  be  a  trouble  to 
her.     I  can  go.     If  it  is  a  misfortune,  there  is  no  one  to  blame." 

"But  if  she  says  'J^ies/'"  cried  his  friend;  and  there  was  a 
wonderful  joy  in  her  eyes,  and  in  her  excess  of  sympathy  she 
caught  his  hand  for  a  moment.  "  Oh,  Angus,  if  Mary  were  to 
Dromise  to  be  your  wife !  What  a  trip  we  should  have  then — 
we  should  take  the  White  Dove  to  Stornoway  !" 

That  was  her  ultimate  notion  of  human  happiness — sailing  the 
White  Dove  up  to  Stornoway. 

"  I  don't  think  there  is  much  hope,"  said  he,  rather  absently, 
"  from  her  manner  of  late.  But  anything  is  better  than  sus- 
pense. If  it  is  a  misfortune,  as  I  say,  there  is  no  one  to  blame. 
I  had  not  the  least  notion  that  she  knew  Mr,  Howard  Smith  in 
London." 

"  Nor  did  she." 

He  stared  rather. 

"  They  may  have  met  at  our  house,  but  certainly  not  more 
than  once.  You  see,  living  in  a  country  house,  we  have  to  have 
our  friends  down  in  a  staccato  fashion,  and  always  by  arrange- 
ment of  a  few  at  a  time.  There  is  no  general  dropping  in  to 
afternoon-tea." 

"  He  never  met  her  in  London  ?"  he  repeated. 

"I  should  think  not." 

"  His  uncle,  the*  :  did  she  never  see  hira  before  ?" 

*'  Certainly  not." 

"Then  what  does  he  mean  by  treating  her  as  a  sort  of  familiar 
friend  who  was  likely  to  turn  up  at  any  time  at  Denny-mains?" 

His  companion  colored  somewhat;  for  she  had  no  right  to  be- 
tray confidences. 

"  The  Laird  is  very  fond  of  Mary,"  she  said,  evasively.  "  It  is 
quite  beautiful  to  see  those  two  together." 

He  sat  for  a  little  time  in  silence,  and  then  begged  to  be  ex- 
cused— he  would  go  on  deck  to  smoke.  But  when,  some  little 
time  thereafter,  we  returned  from  onr  brief  fishing,  the  dark  fig- 
ure walking  up  and  down  the  deck  was  not  smoking  at  all.  He 
paused  as  the  gig  was  hauled  fast  to  the  gangway. 

"  What  luck  ?" 

"  About  two  dozen." 

"All  lithe?" 


ONLY    A    HEADACHE.  247 

"  About  half  a  dozen  mackerel." 

And  then  he  assisted  Mary  Avon  to  ascend  tlie  small  wooden 
steps.  She  said  "  Thank  you !"  as  she  withdrew  her  hand  from 
his ;  but  the  words  were  uttered  in  a  low  voice ;  and  she  instant- 
ly crossed  to  the  companion  and  went  below.  He  stayed  on 
deck,  and  helped  to  swing  the  gig  up  to  the  davits. 

Now  something  had  got  into  the  head  of  our  Adrairal-in-chief 
that  night.  She  was  very  merry,  and  very  affectionate  toward 
Mary.  She  made  light  of  her  foolish  wish  to  go  away  to  the 
South.  She  pointed  out  that  this  continuous  fine  weather  was 
only  hoarding  up  electricity  for  the  equinoctials ;  and  then  we 
should  have  a  spin  ! 

"  We  are  not  going  to  let  you  go,  Mary  ;  that  is  the  long  and 
the  short  of  it.  And  we  are  going  to  keep  hold  of  Angus  too. 
He  is  not  going  away  yet — no,  no :  we  have  something  for  him 
to  do.  Vie  shall  not  rest  satisfied  until  we  see  him  sail  the  White 
Dove  into  Stornoway  Harbor." 


CHAPTER  XXXHI. 

ONLY     A     HEADACHE. 


Stornoway  Harbor,  indeed !  The  weather  was  laughing  at 
us.  The  glass  had  steadily  fallen,  until  it  had  got  about  as  low 
as  it  could  go  with  decency ;  and  yet  this  next  morning  was  more 
beautiful,  and  bright,  and  calm  than  ever.  Were  we  to  be  for- 
ever confined  in  this  remote  Loch  of  the  Burying-Place? 

"  Angus !  Angus !  where  are  you  ?"  the  Admiral  calls  out,  as 
she  comes  up  on  deck. 

"  Here  I  am,"  calls  out  a  voice,  in  return,  from  the  cross-trees. 

She  raises  her  head,  and  perceives  the  ruddy-faced  doctor  hang- 
ing on  by  the  ratlines. 

"Where  is  the  fine  sailing  weather  you  were  to  bring  us — 
eh  ?" 

"  I  have  been  looking  for  it,"  he  replies,  as  he  comes  down  the 
rigging,  "  and  there  is  not  a  breath  anywhere." 

"  Very  well,"  she  says,  promptly  ;  "  I'll  tell  you  what  you  must 
do.  You  must  get  everybody  who  can  handle  a  gun  into  the  gig, 
and  go  away  up  to  the  head  of  the  loch  there,  and  shoot  every 


248  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

living  tiling  you  can  see.  Do  yon  understand?  We  are  on  the 
brink  of  starvation!  We  are  perishing!  Do  you  want  us  to 
boil  tarred  rope  into  soup  ?" 

"  No,"  he  says,  humbly. 

"  Very  well.  Away  you  go.  If  you  can't  bring  us  any  wind 
to  take  us  into  a  civilized  place,  you  must  provide  us  with  food. 
Is  that  clear  enongli  ?" 

Here  Captain  John  comes  aft,  touching  his  cap. 

"Good -morning,  mem.  I  was  never  seeing  the  like  of  this 
weather,  mem." 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  any  more  of  it,"  she  says,  sharply.  "  Did 
you  bring  us  in  here  because  there  was  a  convenient  place  to  bury 
us  in  ?     Do  you  know  that  we  are  dying  of  starvation  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  mem  !"  says  Captain  John,  with  a  grin,  but  looking 
rather  concerned  all  the  same. 

However,  her  attention  is  quickly  called  away  by  the  sound  of 
oars.  She  turns  and  regards  this  small  boat  approaching  the 
yacht ;  and  the  more  she  looks,  the  more  do  her  eyes  fill  with 
astonishment. 

"  Well,  I  declare !"  she  says.  "  This  is  about  the  coolest 
thing  I  have  seen  for  ages." 

For  it  is  Miss  Mary  Avon  who  is  rowing  the  dingey  back  to 
the  yacht;  and  her  only  companion  is  the  Youth,  who  is  con- 
tentedly seated  in  the  stern  with  his  gun  laid  across  his  knees. 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Smith,"  she  says,  with  the  most  gracious 
sarcasm.  "  Pray  don't  exert  yourself  too  much.  Severe  exercise 
before  breakfast  is  very  dangerous." 

The  Youth  lays  hold  of  the  rope;  there  is  a  fine  blush  on  his 
handsome  face. 

"  It  is  Miss  Avon's  fault,"  he  says ;  "  she  would  not  let  me 
row." 

"  I  suppose  she  expected  you  to  shoot.  Where  are  the  duck, 
and  the  snipe,  and  the  golden  plover?     Hand  them  up !" 

"  If  you  want  to  see  anything  in  the  shape  of  game  about  this 
coast,  you'd  better  wait  till  next  Sunday,"  says  he,  somewhat 
gloomily. 

However,  after  breakfast,  we  set  out  for  the  shallow  head  of 
the  loch ;  and  things  do  not  turn  out  so  badly  after  all.  For  we 
have  only  left  the  yacht  some  few  minutes  when  there  is  a  sud- 
den whirrintr  of  win^rs — a  call  of  "  Duck  !  duck  !" — and  the  doc- 


ONLY    A    HEADACUE.  249 

tor,  who  is  at  the  bow,  and  who  is  the  only  one  who  is  ready, 
fires  a  snap-shot  at  the  birds.  Much  to  everybody's  amaze- 
ment, one  drops,  and  instantly  dives.  Then  begins  an  exciting 
chase.  The  biorlinn  is  sent  careering  with  a  vengeance;  the 
men  strain  every  muscle ;  and  then  another  cry  directs  atten- 
tion to  the  point  at  which  the  duck  has  reappeared.  It  is  but 
for  a  second.  Though  he  cannot  fly,  he  can  swim  like  a  fish ; 
and  from  time  to  time,  as  the  hard  pulling  enables  us  to  overtake 
him,  we  can  see  him  shooting  this  way  or  that  through  the  clear 
water.  Then  he  bobs  his  head  up,  some  thirty  or  forty  yards 
off;  and  there  is  another  snap-shot — the  charge  rattling  on  the 
water  tlie  fifth  part  of  an  instant  after  he  disappears, 

"Dear  me!"  says  the  Laird;  "that  bird  will  cost  us  ten  shil- 
lings in  cartridges  1" 

But  at  last  he  is  bagged.  A  chance  shot  happens  to  catch  him 
before  he  dives ;  he  is  stretched  on  the  water,  with  his  black 
webbed  feet  in  the  air;  and  a  swoop  of  Captain  John's  arm 
brings  him  dripping  into  the  gig.  And  then  our  natural  history 
is  put  to  the  test.  This  is  no  gay-pluraaged  sheldrake,  or  blue- 
necked  mallard,  or  saw-toothed  merganser.  It  is  a  broad-billed 
duck,  of  a  sooty  black-and-gray ;  we  begin  to  regret  our  expendi- 
ture of  cartridges :  experiments  on  the  flavor  of  unknown  sea- 
birds  are  rarely  satisfactory.  But  Captain  John's  voice  is  au- 
thoritative and  definite.  "  It  is  a  fine  bird,"  he  says.  And  Mas- 
ter Fred  has  already  marked  him  for  his  own. 

Then  among  the  shallows  at  the  head  of  the  loch  there  is  many 
a  wild  pull  after  broods  of  flappers,  and  random  firing  at  the  cir- 
cling curlew.  The  air  is  filled  with  the  calling  of  the  birds ;  and 
each  successive  shot  rattles  away  with  its  echo  among  the  silent 
hills.  What  is  the  result  of  all  this  noise  and  scramble?  Not 
much,  indeed ;  for  right  in  the  middle  of  it  we  are  attracted  by 
a  strange  appearance  in  the  south.  That  dark  line  beyond  the 
yacht :  is  it  a  breeze  coming  up  the  loch  ?  Instantly  the  chase 
after  mergansers  ceases ;  cartridges  are  taken  out ;  the  two  or 
three  birds  we  have  got  are  put  out  of  the  way ;  and  the  Laird, 
taking  the  tiller-ropes,  sits  proud  and  erect.  Away  go  the  four 
oars  with  the  precision  of  machinery  ;  and  the  long  sweep  sends 
the  gig  ahead  at  a  swinging  pace.  Behold !  behold !  the  dark 
blue  on  the  water  widening !  Is  it  a  race  between  the  wind  and 
the  gig  as  to  which  will  reach  the  White  Dove  first? 


250  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

"  Give  me  your  oar,  Fred,"  says  the  doctor,  who  is  at  the  bow. 

There  is  but  a  momentary  pause.  Again  the  shapely  boat 
swings  along ;  and  with  the  measured  beat  of  the  oars  comes  the 
old  familiar  chorus : 

"  Cheerily,  and  all  together — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen  ! 
A  long,  strong  pull  together — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen ! 
Soon  the  flowing  breeze  will  blow  ; 
We'll  show  the  snowy  canvas  on  her — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen ! 
A  long,  strong  pull  together — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen ! 
Wafted  by  the  breeze  of  morn. 
We'll  quaff  the  joyous  horn  together — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen  ! 
A  long,  strong  pull  together — 

Ho,  ro,  clansmen !" 

*'  We'll  beat !  we'll  beat !"  cries  the  Laird,  in  great  delight. 
"  Give  it  her,  boys !  Not  one  half-penny-worth  o'  that  wind 
will  we  lose !" 

The  bow  cleaves  the  blue  water;  the  foam  hisses  away  from 
her  rudder.  It  is  a  race  of  the  North  against  the  South.  Then 
the  chorus  again — 

"  Ho,  ro,  clansmen  ! 
A  long,  strong  pull  together — 
Ho,  ro,  clansmen !" 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  As  the  gig  is  run  along-side,  and  guns  and 
birds  lianded  up,  that  spreading  blue  has  not  quite  reached  the 
yacht;  there  is  no  appreciable  stir  of  the  lazy  ensign.  But 
there  is  little  time  to  be  lost.  The  amateurs  swing  the  gig  to 
the  davits,  while  the  men  are  getting  in  the  slack  of  the  anchor 
chain ;  the  women  are  incontinently  bundled  below,  to  be  out  of 
the  way  of  flapping  sheets.  Then,  all  hands  at  the  halyards ! 
And  by  the  time  the  great  White  Wings  are  beginning  to 
spread,  the  breeze  stirs  the  still  air  around  us;  and  the  peak 
sways  gently  this  way  and  that ;  and  they  who  are  hard  at  work 
at  the  windlass  arc  no  doubt  grateful  for  this  cool  blowing  from 
the  south.  Then  there  is  a  cessation  of  noise ;  we  become 
vaguely  aware  that  we  are  moving.  At  last  the  White  Dove  has 
spread  her  wings ;  her  head"  is  turned  toward  the  south.     Good- 


ONLY    A    HEADACHE.  251 

bye,  you  lonely  loch,  with  the  silent  shores  and  the  silent  tombs 
— a  hundred  farewells  to  you,  wherever  we  may  be  going ! 

And  slowly  we  beat  down  the  loch,  against  this  light  southerly 
breeze.  But  as  we  get  farther  and  farther  into  the  open,  surely 
there  is  something  in  the  air  and  in  the  appearance  of  the  south- 
ern sky  that  suggests  that  the  glass  has  not  been  falling  for  noth- 
ing. The  sea  is  smooth ;  but  there  is  a  strange  gloom  ahead  of 
us ;  and  beyond  the  islands  that  we  visited  yesterday  nothing  is 
visible  but  a  wan  and  sultry  glare.  Then,  afar,  we  can  hear  a 
noise  as  of  the  approach  of  some  storm ;  but  perhaps  it  is  only 
*he  low  sound  of  the  swirling  of  the  tides  round  the  shores. 
Presently  another  sound  attracts  attention — a  murmured  hissing, 
and  it  comes  nearer  and  nearer ;  dark  spots,  about  the  size  of  a 
threepenny-piece,  appear  on  the  white  decks.  The  women  have 
scarcely  time  to  send  below  for  their  sun-shades  when  the  slight 
shower  passes  by — the  decks  are  not  even  left  damp.  Then  far- 
ther and  farther  we  creep  away  toward  the  south  ;  but  where  we 
expected  to  catch  some  far  glimpse  of  the  Irish  coast — the  blue 
line  of  Rathlin  or  the  Antrim  cliffs — there  is  only  that  dim,  sul- 
try haze. 

Then  another  sound — a  dnW  flop!  flop  ! — in  the  distance  ;  and 
the  stragglers  who  have  remained  below  after  luncheon  are  hasti- 
ly summoned  on  deck.  And  there,  far  away  in  the  haze,  we  can 
dimly  descry  the  successive  curved  forms  of  a  school  of  dolphins, 
racing  each  other,  and  springing  twenty  or  thirty  feet  in  the  air 
before  they  come  down  with  that  heavy  thud  on  the  water. 
Those  of  us  who  have  watched  the  beautiful  lithe  fish  racing  and 
chasing  by  the  side  of  an  Atlantic  vessel,  would  fain  have  been 
somewhat  nearer ;  but  we  can  only  see  the  dim  forms  springing 
into  the  haze.  Then  the  dull  pistol-shots  in  the  south  slowly 
cease,  and  we  are  left  alone  on  the  low  murmuring  sea. 

"  But  where  is  Miss  Mary  ?"  says  the  Laird,  suddenly  becom- 
ing aware  of  the  absence  of  his  chief  companion. 

"Oh,  she  is  in  the  saloon,"  says  his  hostess,  quickly  and  anx- 
iously. "  She  is  doing  something  to  one  of  her  water-colors.  I 
suppose  we  must  not  disturb  her." 

"  No,  no ;  certainly  not,"  returns  the  Laird,  lightly.  And  then  he 
adds,  with  a  smile  which  is  meant  to  be  very  significant,  "  there 
is  never  any  harm  in  hard  work.  Let  her  go  on ;  she  will  have 
a  fine  collection  of  sketches  before  she  leaves  the  White  Dove^ 

12* 


252  WHITE  wings:   a  yachting  romance. 

But  our  Queen  Tita  does  not  respond  to  that  careless  joke. 
There  is  a  curious,  constrained  look  on  her  face ;  and  she  quite 
peremptorily  negatives  a  suggestion  of  the  Youth  that  he  should 
go  below  for  the  draught-board.  Then  one  of  us  perceives  that 
Angus  Sutherland  is  not  on  deck. 

Has  the  opportunity  come  at  last,  then,  for  the  clearing  away 
of  all  secret  troubles?  What  end  is  there  to  be  to  this  momen- 
tous interview?  Is  it  Stornoway  Harbor?  Is  our  frank -eyed 
young  doctor  to  come  up  with  a  silent  wonder  and  joy  on  his 
face — a  message  that  needs  no  speech — message  that  only  says, 
"About  with  the  yacht,  and  let  us  run  away  to  the  northern  sea* 
and  Stornoway  ?"  The  friend  of  these  two  young  people  can 
hardly  conceal  her  anxiety.  She  has  got  hold  of  the  case  of  an 
opera-glass,  and  opens  and  shuts  it  quickly  and  aimlessly.  Then 
there  is  a  step  on  the  companion-way ;  she  does  not  look ;  she 
only  knows  that  Angus  Sutherland  comes  on  deck,  and  then  goes 
forward  to  the  bow  of  the  gig,  and  stands  by  himself,  and  looks 
out  to  sea. 

There  is  silence  on  board ;  for  a  low  rumble  of  thunder  has 
been  heard  once  or  twice,  and  we  are  listening.  The  mountains 
of  Jura  are  dark  now,  and  the  sultry  mist  in  the  south  is  deeper 
in  its  gloom.  This  condition  of  the  atmosphere  produces  a 
vague  sense  of  something  about  to  happen,  which  is  in  itself  un- 
comfortable ;  one  would  almost  like  to  see  a  flash  of  lightning, 
or  hear  the  thunderous  advance  of  a  storm  breaking  in  upon  the 
oppressive  calm. 

The  Laird  goes  forward  to  Angus  Sutherland. 

"  Well,  doctor,  and  what  think  ye  of  the  weather  now  ?" 

The  younger  man  starts  and  turns  round,  and  for  a  second 
looks  at  the  Laird  as  if  he  had  not  quite  comprehended  the 
question. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  says.  "  You  are  quite  right.  It  does  look  as  if 
we  were  going  to  have  a  dirty  night." 

And  with  that  he  turns  to  the  sea  again. 

"  Ay,"  says  the  Laird,  scntcntiously.  "  I  am  glad  we  are  in 
a  boat  wc  need  have  no  fear  of — none.  Keep  her  away  from 
the  shore,  and  wc  are  all  right.  Ihit — but  I  suppose  we  will  get 
into  some  harbor  to-night,  after  all." 

"  It  does  not  matter,"  he  says,  absently ;  and  then  he  goes 
away  up  to  the  bow.     He  is  alone  there ;  for  the  men  have  gone 


ONLY    A    HEADACHE.'  253 

below  for  dinner — with  the  exception  of  John  of  Skye,  who  is 
at  the  hchn. 

Presently  the  special  friend  of  the  young  man  puts  aside  that 
opera-glass  case,  and  walks  timidly  forward  to  the  bow  of  the 
yacht.  She  regards  him  somewhat  anxiously ;  but  his  face  is 
turned  away  from  her — looking  over  to  the  gloomy  Jura  hills. 

"Angus,"  she  says,  briskly,  "are  we  not  going  very  near  Jura, 
if  it  is  West  Loch  Tarbert  we  are  making  for  ?" 

He  turned  to  her  then,  and  she  saw  by  his  face  that  something 
had  happened. 

"  You  have  spoken  to  her,  Angus  ?"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice ; 
and  her  earnest,  kind  eyes  regarded  the  young  man  as  if  to  an- 
ticipate his  answer. 

"  Yes." 

For  a  second  or  so  he  seemed  disinclined  to  say  more ;  but 
presently  he  added,  scarcely  looking  at  her, 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  must  leave  you  the  first  time  we  get  near 
land." 

"  Oh,  Angus !" 

It  was  almost  a  cry,  uttered  in  that  low,  piteous  voice.  Then 
he  looked  at  her. 

"You  have  been  very  kind  to  me,"  said  he,  so  that  no  one 
should  hear.  "  It  is  only  a  misfortune.  But  I  wish  I  had  never 
seen  the  White  Dove^ 

"  Oh,  Angus,  don't  say  that !" 

"  It  is  my  own  fault.  I  should  never  have  come  from  Edin- 
burgh. I  knew  that.  I  knew  I  was  hazarding  everything.  And 
she  is  not  to  blame — " 

He  could  say  no  more,  for  one  or  two  of  the  men  now  came 
up  from  the  forecastle.  His  hostess  left  him,  and  went  aft,  with 
a  hurt  and  indignant  look  on  her  face.  AVhen  the  Laird  asked 
why  Miss  Mary  did  not  come  on  deck,  she  said,  "  I  don't  know," 
with  an  air  which  said  she  had  ceased  to  take  any  further  care 
in  Mary  Avon's  actions.  And  at  dinner  what  heed  did  she  pay 
to  the  fact  that  Mary  Avon  was  rather  white,  and  silent,  and  pain- 
ed-looking ?  She  had  been  disappointed.  She  had  not  expected 
the  friend  of  her  bosom  to  act  in  this  heartless  manner.  And 
as  for  Howard  Smith,  she  treated  that  young  gentleman  with  a 
cold  courtesy  which  rather  astonished  him. 

After  dinner,  when  the  men-folk  had  gone  on  deck,  and  wlien 


254  WHITE  wrNGS :    a  yachting  romance. 

she  was  preparing  to  go  too,  a  timid,  appealing  hand  was  laid  on 
her  arm, 

"  I  would  like  to  speak  to  you,"  said  the  low  voice  of  Mary 
Avon. 

Then  she  turned — only  for  a  second. 

"  I  think  I  know  enough  of  what  has  happened,  Mary,"  said 
she ;  "  and  it  would  not  be  right  for  me  to  intermeddle.  Young 
people  are  the  best  judges  of  their  own  affairs." 

The  appealing  hand  was  withdrawn ;  the  girl  retired  to  the 
saloon,  and  sat  down  alone. 

But  here,  on  deck,  an  eager  council  of  war  was  being  held ;  and 
Angus  Sutherland  was  as  busy  as  any  one  with  the  extended  chart 
— the  soundings  barely  visible  in  the  waning  light — and  propo- 
sals and  counter -proposals  were  being  freely  bandied  about. 
Night  was  coming  on  ;  dirty-looking  weather  seemed  to  be  com- 
ing up  from  the  south ;  and  the  mouth  of  West  Loch  Tarbert  is 
narrow  and  shallow  in  parts,  and  studded  with  rocks — a  nasty 
place  to  enter  in  the  dark.  Moreover,  when  should  we  get  there, 
beating  against  this  south-easterly  wind  ?  What  if  we  were  to 
put  her  head  round,  and  run  for  some  improvised  harbor  among 
the  small  islands  under  the  shadow  of  the  Jura  hills,  and  wait 
there  for  daylight  to  show  us  across  the  Sound? 

There  was  but  one  dissentient.  Angus  Sutherland  seemed 
oddly  anxious  to  get  to  West  Loch  Tarbert.  He  would  himself 
take  the  helm  all  night,  if  only  the  men  would  take  their  turn  at 
the  lookout,  one  at  a  time.  He  was  sure  he  could  make  the 
channel,  if  we  reached  the  mouth  of  the  loch  before  daylight. 
What !  with  nothing  shallower  on  the  chart  than  four  fathoms ! 
How  could  there  be  any  danger? 

But  the  more  prudent  counsels  of  John  of  Skye  at  length  pre- 
vail, and  there  is  a  call  to  the  men  forward  to  stand  by.  Then 
down  goes  the  helm ;  her  head  slews  round  with  a  rattling  of 
blocks  and  cordage ;  the  sheets  of  the  head-sails  are  belayed  to 
leeward  ;  and  then,  with  the  boom  away  over  the  starboard  davits, 
we  arc  running  free  before  this  freshening  breeze. 

But  the  niglit  is  dark  as  we  cautiously  creep  in  under  the  vast 
shadows  of  the  Jura  hills.  Fortunately  in  here  the  wind  is  light ; 
the  White  Dove  seeras  to  feel  her  way  through  the  gloom.  All 
eyes  arc  on  the  lookout ;  and  there  is  a  general  shout  as  we  near- 
ly run  on  a  buoy  set  to  mark  a  sunken  ship.     But  we  glide  by  in 


IN    THE    DARK.  255 

safety ;  and  in  due  course  of  time  the  roar  of  the  anchor  chain 
tells  us  that  we  are  snug  for  the  night. 

"  But  where  is  Miss  Mary  ?"  says  the  Laird,  in  the  cheerfully 
lit  saloon,  lie  looks  around  him  in  an  uncomfortable  and  un- 
settled way.  The  saloon  is  not  the  saloon  when  Mary  Avon  is 
out  of  it:  here  is  her  chair,  next  to  his  as  usual,  but  it  is  va- 
cant. How  are  we  to  spend  the  last  happy  hour  of  chatting 
and  joking  without  the  pleased,  bright  face,  and  the  timid,  gen- 
tle, shy,  dark  eyes  ? 

"  Mary  has  gone  to  her  cabin,"  says  her  hostess.  "  I  suppose 
she  has  a  headache." 

She  supposes  the  girl  has  a  headache,  and  has  not  asked ! 
And  can  it  be  really  Mary  Avon  that  she  is  speaking  of  in  that 
cold,  hurt,  offended  way  ? 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

IN    THE    DARK. 


And  then  the  next  morning  the  Laird  is  infinitely  distressed. 

"  What !  not  better  yet  ?"  he  says.  "  Dear  me  !  I  wish  I  could 
be  a  woman  for  awhile,  to  take  some  tea  in  to  her,  and  read  to 
her,  and  coax  her  into  better  spirits.  What  a  bad  headache  it 
must  be !" 

But  this  generous  sympathy  on  the  part  of  one  who  is  little 
more  than  an  acquaintance  touches  the  heart  of  Mary  Avon's 
particular  friend.  She  reproaches  herself  for  her  cruelty.  She 
not  only  gets  the  tea,  and  takes  it  into  the  cabin,  but  she  adopts 
a  domineering  tone,  and  declares  that  until  the  young  lady  be- 
gins her  breakfast  she  will  not  leave  the  place.  And  then  she 
looks  at  the  timid,  worn  face ;  and  her  hand  is  placed  gently  on 
the  hand  of  her  friend,  and  she  says,  in  a  lower  voice : 

"  Mary,  don't  think  I  am  angry.  I  am  only  a  little  bit  disap- 
pointed. But  I  don't  blame  you :  you  could  not  help  it.  It  is 
a  pity  ;  that  is  all." 

The  girl's  face  remains  rather  sad ;  but  she  is  quite  self-pos- 
sessed. 

"You  will  let  me  go  away,"  she  says,  looking  down,  "when 
we  get  to  some  harbor  ?" 


256  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

"  There  is  no  need,"  says  lier  friend,  regarding  her.  "  Angus 
will  leave  us  to-day,  as  soon  as  we  get  across  to  Cantyre." 

"  Oh  !"  she  said,  quickly,  and  looking  up  with  a  brief  appeal 
in  her  eyes.  "  I  hope  not.  Why  should  he  go  away  ?  I  must 
go ;  I  would  rather  go." 

"  Oh  no,  Mary,"  her  friend  said.  "  If  there  is  any  '  must '  in 
the  matter,  it  is  on  his  side ;  for  you  know  his  time  is  very  valu- 
able, and  you  must  have  guessed  why  he  has  already  far  exceed- 
ed what  he  proposed  to  himself  as  his  holiday.  No,  no,  Mary  ; 
let  us  forget  what  has  happened  as  soon  as  we  can,  and  make  the 
best  of  the  rest  of  our  sailing.  The  Laird  would  have  a  fit,  if 
you  seriously  threatened  to  go.  And  I  am  sure  you  are  not  to 
blame." 

So  she  kissed  her  on  the  cheek,  by  way  of  reconciliation,  and 
left.  And  she  told  the  Laird  that  Mary  had  been  dutiful,  and 
had  taken  some  breakfast,  and  would  be  up  on  deck  in  course  of 
time. 

Meanwhile,  those  who  had  gone  on  deck  had  found  the  White 
Dove  lying  in  a  dead  calm,  some  three  miles  away  from  her  anch- 
orage of  the  previous  night ;  her  sails  hanging  limp,  a  scorching 
sun  on  the  white  decks,  and  a  glare  of  light  coming  from  the 
blue  sky  and  the  glassy  blue  sea. 

"  Well,  Angus,"  says  his  hostess,  very  merrily — for  she  does 
not  wish  to  let  the  others  guess  the  reason  of  his  sudden  depart- 
ure— "  you  see  the  weather  does  not  approve  of  your  leaving  us. 
What  has  become  of  your  thunder-storm  ?  Wliere  is  the  gale 
from  the  south,  John  ?" 

"  I  was  never  seeing  the  like  of  this  weather,  mem,"  said  the 
bearded  skipper.  Then  he  added,  anxiously,  "  And  is  Dr.  Suth- 
erland himself  going  away  from  the  yat?" 

"lie  would  like  to,"  she  says;  "but  how  is  he  ever  to  see  land 
again  if  you  banish  the  wind  so  ?" 

"But  it  will  no  be  like  this  long,"  says  Captain  John,  eagerly ; 
for  he  appears  to  think  that  Dr.  Sutherland  lias  got  tired  of  the 
fine  weather.  "Oh  no,' mem,  I  will  answer  for  it.  If  Dr.  Suth- 
erland will  wait  another  day,  or  two  days,  I  am  sure  there  will  be 
plenty  of  wind.  And  we  can  lie  in  West  Loch  Tarbert  for  one 
day,  or  two  days — " 

"And  starve?"  she  says,  abru[)tly. 

But  now  it  aj)pears  that  one  or  two  of  the  men  have  heard  of 


IN    THE    UAKK.  257 

a  mysterious  village  lying  somewhere  inland  from  the  mouth  of 
the  loch ;  and  from  a  comparison  of  these  vague  rumors  we  gath- 
er that  we  may  not  be  so  far  from  civilization  after  all.  Perhaps 
we  may  once  again  behold  loaf  bread.  Visions  of  cutlets,  fowls, 
grouse,  and  hares  arise.  We  shall  once  more  hear  some  echo  of 
the  distant  world,  if  perchance  there  be  in  the  place  a  worn  and 
ancient  newspaper. 

"Ay,"  said  the  Laird,  hastily.  "I  would  like  to  see  a  Glas- 
gow newspaper.  I'm  thinking  they  must  have  got  the  steam 
fire-engine  by  now  ;  and  tine  games  the  bairns  will  have  when 
they  begin  to  practise  with  it,  skelping  about  in  the  water.  It 
would  be  a  grand  thing  to  try  it  in  the  public  garden  when  we 
get  it;  it  would  keep  the  shrubs  and  the  borders  fine  and  wet 
—eh  ?" 

"And  it  would  be  quite  as  interesting  as  any  plaster  fountain," 
says  his  hostess,  encouragingly. 

"  As  handsome  every  bit,"  says  the  Laird,  laughing  heartily  at 
his  play  of  imagination,  "  as  any  bit  laddie  done  up  in  stucco, 
standing  on  one  leg,  and  holding  up  a  pipe !  It's  a  utilitarian 
age,  ma'am — a  utilitarian  age ;  we  Avill  have,  instead  of  a  foun- 
tain, a  steam  fire-engine — very  good  !  very  good  ! — and  they  bod- 
ies who  are  always  crying  out  against  expenditure  on  decoration 
will  be  disappointed  for  once." 

The  Laird  had  at  last  discovered  the  whereabouts  of  the  mys- 
terious village  on  the  Admiralty  chart. 

"  But  what  newspaper  will  we  get  in  a  place  hidden  away  like 
that?  —  out  of  the  reach  of  all  communication  wi'  the  world. 
They'll  be  a  century  behind,  mark  my  words.  It  is  when  ye 
live  within  a  reasonable  distance  of  a  great  centre  of  ceeviliza- 
tion,  like  Glasgow,  that  ye  feel  the  life  of  it  stirring  your  own 
place  too;  and  ye  must  keep  up  with  the  times;  ye  must  be 
moving.  Conservative  as  I  am,  there  is  no  supersteetious  obsti- 
nacy about  me  ;  moving — moving — that's  the  word.  The  more 
important  the  matter  in  the  interest  of  the  public,  the  more  nec- 
essary is  it  that  we  should  have  an  impartial  mind.  If  ye  show 
me  a  new  sort  of  asphalt,  do  ye  think  I  would  not  examine  it, 
jist  because  I  recommended  Jamicson  and  MacGregor's  patent?" 

He  appealed  boldly  to  his  hostess. 

"  Oh,  certainly  ;  certainly  you  would  !"  she  says,  with  an  ear- 
nestness that  might  have  made  Jamieson  and  MacGregor  quail. 


258  WHITE  wings:   a  yachting  romance. 

"  For  three  weeks,"  says  the  Laird,  solemnly,  "  I  was  on  that 
committee,  until  it  seemed  that  my  breakfast,  and  ray  dinner,  and 
my  supper  every  day  was  nothing  but  tar  smoke.  What  wi'  the 
experiments  without  and  within,  I  was  just  filled  with  tar  smoke. 
And  would  ye  believe  it,  ma'am,  one  o'  they  Radical  newspapers 
went  as  far  as  to  say  there  were  secret  influences  at  work  when 
Jamieson  and  MacGregor  was  decided  on.  My  friends  said, 
'Prosecute  the  man  for  libel;'  but  I  said,  'No;  let  the  poor  cray- 
ture  alone ;  he  has  got  to  earn  his  living  !'  " 

"  That  was  very  wise  of  you,  sir,"  says  his  hostess. 

"  Bless  me  !  If  a  man  in  public  life  were  to  heed  everything 
that's  said  about  him,"  observes  the  Laird,  with  a  fine  air  of  un- 
concern, "  what  would  become  of  his  time  ?  No,  no ;  that  is  not 
the  principle  on  which  a  public  man  should  found  his  life.  Do 
your  best  for  your  fellow-creatures,  and  let  the  squabblers  say 
what  they  like.  As  ah  say,  the  poor  wretches  have  to  earn  their 
living." 

Here  Mary  Avon  appeared,  somewhat  pale  and  tired-looking ; 
and  the  Laird  instantly  went  to  condole  with  her,  and  to  get  her 
a  deck  chair,  and  what  not.  At  the  same  moment,  too,  our 
young  doctor  came  along — perhaps  with  a  brave  desire  to  put  an 
end  to  her  embarrassment  at  once — and  shook  hands  with  her, 
and  said,  "  Good-morning ;  I  hope  your  headache  is  better." 
Her  hand  was  trembling  as  it  fell  away  from  his ;  and  her  "  Yes, 
thank  you !"  was  almost  inaudible.  Then  she  sat  down,  and  the 
Laird  resumed  his  discourse. 

"I  was  once  taken,"  said  he,  "by  a  fellow-commissioner  of 
mine  to  a  sort  of  singing-place,  or  music-hall,  in  Glasgow."  " 

"  What  ?" 

"  Thoy  wanted  to  have  some  such  place  in  Strathgovan,"  con- 
tinued the  Laird,  paying  no  heed,  "  and  I  was  asked  to  go  and 
see  what  sort  of  entertainment  was  provided  in  such  places.  It 
was  a  sorrowful  sight,  ma'am — a  sorrowful  sight ;  the  wretched 
craytures  on  the  stage  laugliing  at  their  own  songs,  and  the  peo- 
ple not  laughing  at  all,  but  given  over  to  tobacco-smoking,  and 
whiskey,  and  talking  among  themselves.  No  glint  of  humor — 
stupid,  senseless  stuff.  But  there  was  one  young  man  sung  a 
song  that  had  a  better  sound  in  it — I  cannot  remember  the  words 
— but  I  sometimes  think  there  was  common-setise  in  them  :  it 
was  about  minding  your  own  business,  and  doing  your  own  work, 


IN    THE    DARK.  259 

and  letting  fools  say  or  think  of  ye  what  they  please.  Ay,  I 
think  there  was  something  in  that  young  man  ;  though  I  doubt, 
by  the  look  of  his  eyes,  but  he  was  a  drinker." 

He  turned  to  Mary  Avon,  who  had  been  content  to  be  a  mute 
and  unobserved  listener. 

"  AVell,  Miss  Mary,"  said  he,  brightly,  "  and  the  headache  is 
going?  And  are  ye  looking  forward  to  getting  letters  and  news- 
papers when  we  get  back  to  the  world  ?  There  is  a  post-office  at 
that  village  of  Clachan,  John  V 

"Oh,  ay,  sir!"  said  John  ;  "  there  will  be  a  post-office." 

The  Laird  looked  up  at  him  reproachfully. 

"  But  why  cannot  ye  learn  the  English  pronunciation,  man  ? 
What's  the  necessity  for  ye  to  say  pohst-offas  ?  Cannot  ye  pro- 
nounce the  plain  English — post-oaffice  ?" 

"I  am  not  very  good  at  the  English,  sir,"  said  Captain  John, 
with  a  grin. 

"  Ye'll  never  learn  younger." 

Then  he  went  to  Mary  Avon,  and  suggested  that  a  walk  up 
and  down  the  deck  might  do  her  headache  good ;  and  when  she 
rose  he  put  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  as  they  started  oflf,  "  I  do  not  like  headaches 
in  young  people :  they  are  not  natural.  And  ye  may  think  I  am 
very  inqueesitive ;  but  it  is  the  privilege  of  old  men  to  be  talka- 
tive and  inqueesitive ;  and  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  question." 

There  was  certainly  no  effort  at  keeping  a  secret  on  the  part 
of  the  Laird;  every  one  might  have  heard  these  two  talking  as 
they  quietly  walked  up  and  down. 

"  I  am  going  to  ask  ye,  plump  and  plain,  if  ye  are  not  anxious 
about  going  to  London,  and  worrying  yourself  about  the  selling 
of  your  pictures  ?     There  now  ;  answer  me  that." 

"  Not  very  much,  sir,"  she  says,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Listen  to  me,"  he  said,  speaking  in  a  remarkably  emphatic 
way.  "  If  that  is  on  your  mind,  dismiss  it.  I  tell  you  what :  I 
will  undertake,  on  my  own  responsibeelity,  that  every  painting 
in  oil,  and  every  sketch  in  oil,  and  every  water -color  drawing, 
and  every  sketch  in  water-color,  that  ye  have  on  board  this  yacht, 
will  be  sold  wilhin  one  fortnight  of  your  leaving  the  yacht.  Do 
ye  understand  that  ?" 

"  You  are  very  kind,  sir." 

"  I  am  not  bletherin',"  said  he  :  "  no  man  ever  knew  me  draw 


260  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 

back  from  my  word.  So  put  that  anxiety  away  from  your  mind 
altogether,  and  let  us  have  no  more  troubles.  I  could  sell — I 
could  sell  four  times  as  many  for  ye  in  a  fortnight.  Bless  ye, 
lassie,  ye  do  not  know  the  people  in  the  west  of  Scotland  yet — 
ye'll  know  them  better  by-and-by.  If  there's  one  thing  they  un- 
derstand better  than  another,  it  is  a  good  picture ;  and  they  are 
ready  to  put  their  hand  in  their  pocket.  Oh  !  they  Edinburgh 
bodies  are  very  fine  creetics — they  have  what  tliey  believe  to  be 
an  elegant  society  in  Edinburgh  —  and  they  talk  a  great  deal 
about  pictures ;  but  do  they  put  their  hand  in  their  pocket  ?  Ask 
Tom  Galbraith.  Ask  him  where  he  gets  three-fourths  of  his  in- 
come, lie  lives  in  Edinburgh;  but  he  gets  his  income  from 
the  west  of  Scotland.  Tom's  a  wise  lad.  He  knows  how  to 
feather  his  nest.  And  when  he  has  become  independent  of  the 
picture-dealers,  then  he'll  go  to  London,  and  fight  the  men  there 
on  their  own  ground." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  some  of  Mr.  Galbraith's  work,"  she  said, 
"  before  I  return  to  England." 

"You  will  have  plenty  of  leisure  to  look  at  them  by-and-by," 
replied  the  Laird,  quite  simply.  "  I  have  some  of  Tom's  very 
best  things  at  Denny-mains." 

It  was  not  until  the  cool  of  the  afternoon  that  a  light  breeze 
sprung  up  to  fill  the  sails  of  the  White  Dove,  and  press  her  gently 
on  toward  the  coast  of  Cantyre.  By  this  time  every  one  on  board 
knew  that  Angus  Sutherland  was  leaving,  and  leaving  for  good. 

"  I  hope  ye  will  come  and  see  me  at  Denny-mains,  Dr.  Suther- 
land," said  the  Laird,  good-naturedly,  "  when  ye  happen  to  be  in 
Scotland.  I  have  a  neighbor  there  ye  would  be  glad  to  meet — a 
man  who  could  talk  to  ye  on  your  own  subjects — Mr.  Stoney." 

Our  doctor  paid  but  little  heed.  He  was  silent  and  distraught. 
His  eyes  had  an  absent  and  heavy  look  in  them. 

"A  most  distinguished  man,"  the  Laird  continued.  "I  am 
told  his  reputation  in  England  is  just  as  great  as  it  is  in  this 
country.  A  very  distinguished  man  indeed.  He  read  a  paper 
before  the  British  Association  not  many  years  ago." 

"About  what,  do  you  remember?"  said  the  other  at  last. 

"H'm  !"  said  the  Laird,  apparently  puzzling  his  memory.  "  Yc 
see,  a  man  in  my  poseetion  has  so  much  to  do  with  the  practi- 
cal business  of  life,  that  perhaps  he  docs  not  pay  just  attention 
to  the  speculations  of  others.     But  Mr.  Stoney  is  a  remarkable 


IN    THE    DARK.  261 

man ;  I  am  qstonisbed  ye  should  liavc  forgotten  what  the  paper 
was  about.  A  most  able  man,  and  a  fine,  logical  mind ;  it  is  just 
beautiful  to  hear  him  point  out  the  close  fitness  between  the 
charges  in  the  major  proposeetion  in  the  Semple  case,  and  tlie 
averments  and  extracts  in  the  minor.  Ye  would  be  greatly  de- 
lighted and  instructed  by  him,  doctor.  And  there's  another 
thing." 

Here  the  Laird  looked  shyly  at  Mary  Avon. 

"  There's  a  young  leddy  here  who  has  a  secret  of  mine ;  and 
I'm  thinking  she  has  not  said  much  about  it.  But  I  will  make 
a  public  confession  now  :  it  has  been  on  my  mind  for  some  time 
back  that  I  might  buy  a  screw  yacht." 

The  Laird  looked  triumphantly  around ;  he  had  forgotten  that 
it  was  a  very  open  secret. 

"  And  wouldn't  it  be  a  sti'ange  thing  if  this  very  party,  just 
as  we  are  sitting  now,  were  to  be  up  at  this  very  spot  next  year, 
on  board  that  yacht? — wouldn't  that  be  a  strange  thing?" 

"  It  would  be  a  jolly  pleasant  thing,"  said  the  Youth. 

"  You  are  very  kind  to  include  me  in  the  invitation,"  said 
Angus  Sutherland ;  "  but  I  doubt  whether  I  shall  ever  be  in 
Scotland  again.  My  father  is  a  very  old  man  now  :  that  is  the 
only  thing  that  would  call  me  north.  But  I  think  I  could  get 
on  better  with  my  own  work  by  going  abroad  for  some  years — 
to  Naples,  probably.     I  have  to  go  to  Italy  before  long,  anyway." 

He  spoke  in  a  matter-of-fact  way.  We  did  not  doubt  that  he 
might  pursue  his  researches  better  in  Naples. 

It  was  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening  that  we  slowly  sailed  into 
West  Loch  Tarbert — past  a  series  of  rocks  and  islands  on  which, 
as  we  were  given  to  understand,  seals  were  more  abundant  than 
limpets.  But  whereas  the  last  haunt  of  the  seals  we  had  visited 
had  introduced  us  to  a  solitary  and  desolate  loch,  with  sterile 
shores  and  lonely  ruins,  this  loch,  so  far  as  we  could  see,  was  a 
cheerful  and  inhabited  place,  with  one  or  two  houses  shining 
palely  white  amidst  the  dark  woods.  And  when  we  had  come  to 
anchor,  and  sent  ashore,  although  tliere  were  no  provisions  to  be 
got,  the  men  returned  with  all  the  necessary  information  for 
Angus  Sutherland.  By  getting  up  very  early  next  morning,  and 
walking  a  certain  distance,  he  would  catch  a  certain  coach  which 
would  take  him  on  to  Tarbert,  on  Loch  Fyne,  in  time  to  catch 
the  steamer. 


262  WHITE  wings:    a  yachtinu  romance. 

And  so  that  night,  before  we  turned  in  to  our  respective  cab- 
ins, the  doctor  bade  us  all  formally  good-bye ;  and  Mary  Avon 
among  the  rest.  No  one  could  have  noticed  the  least  difference 
in  his  manner. 

But  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  in  the  ladies'  cabin,  a  sound 
of  stifled  sobbing.  And  the  other  woman  goes  over  to  the  berth 
of  her  companion,  and  bends  her  head  down,  and  whispers, 

"  Mary,  why  are  you  crying  ?     Tell  me." 

She  cannot  speak  for  a  time ;  her  whole  frame  is  shaken  with 
the  bitter  sobs.  And  then  she  says,  in  a  low,  trembling,  broken 
voice, 

"  He  has  not  forgiven  me  !     I  saw  it  in  his  face." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

TO    ABSENT    FRIENDS. 


Next  morning,  however,  every  one  perceived  an  extraordinary 
change  in  the  appearance  and  manner  of  the  girl.  Mary  Avon 
had  come  back  to  ns  again,  with  all  the  light  and  life  of  her  face, 
and  the  contented  gentleness  of  the  soft  black  eyes.  What  had 
wrought  the  transformation  ?  Certain  confidential  assurances  in 
the  silence  of  the  night  that  Angus  Sutherland,  so  far  from  not 
forgiving  her,  had  insisted  that  she  was  not  to  blame  at  all  ?  Or 
the  natural  reaction  after  a  long  strain  of  anxiety  ?  Or  merely  the 
welcome  fresh  breeze  of  the  morning,  with  the  cheerful,  wooded 
shores,  and  the  white  houses  shining  in  the  sunlight  ?  Anyhow, 
there  was  quite  a  new  expression  in  her  face ;  and  we  heard  the 
low,  sweet  laugh  again.  It  is  true  that,  once  or  twice,  as  she 
walked  up  and  down  the  deck  with  the  Laird,  her  eyes  grew  pen- 
sive as  she  looked  away  along  the  hills  on  the  southern  shores  of 
the  loch.  That  was  the  direction  in  which  Angus  had  left  in  the 
morning.  And  these  hills  were  somewhat  overcast;  it  seemed 
to  be  raining  inland. 

Moreover,  there  was  somctliing  else  to  make  our  breakfast  party 
a  glad  one.  The  two  men  who  ha<l  rowed  our  young  doctor 
across  the  loch  at  break  of  day  had  had  the  curiosity  to  pierce 
inland  as  far  as  the  village  of  Clachan;  and  the  scouts  had 
brought  back  the  most  glowing  accounts  of  the  Promised  Land 


TO    ABSENT    FRIENDS.  263 

which  they  had  discovered.  They  had  penetrated  a  fertile  and 
deeply  wooded  valley  ;  and  they  had  at  length  come  upon  a  cen- 
tre of  the  highest  civilization.  There  was  a  post-office.  There 
was  a  telegraph  office.  There  was  a  church,  the  clock  of  which 
struck  the  hours. 

"  Just  fancy  that !"  exclaimed  our  hostess.  "  A  clock  that 
strikes  the  hours ! — and  a  telegraph  office !  We  might  send  a 
telegram  to  ask  whether  the  country  has  been  invaded  anywhere, 
or  whether  the  Prime-minister  has  committed  suicide." 

"  I  would  like  to  hear  about  the  steam  fire-engine,"  said  the 
Laird,  almost  to  himself. 

"  However,  breeze  or  no  breeze,  seals  or  no  seals,"  she  says, 
with  decision,  "  we  must  stay  over  a  day  here,  to  have  the  yacht 
thoroughly  provisioned.  We  cannot  go  on  skating  on  the  edge 
of  tinned  meats.  We  must  have  a  plentiful  supply  of  fresh  veg- 
etables, and  fresh  milk,  and  eggs  and  butter;  and  then  two  or 
three  joints  are  always  so  serviceable — cold,  I  mean,  for  lunch- 
eon ;  and  if  Fred  cannot  get  any  game,  at  least  he  must  get  us 
some  fowls.  What  do  you  say,  Mary  ?  Shall  we  walk  over  to 
this  place,  and  clear  the  way  for  Fred  ?" 

"  Oh  no,"  says  the  other,  lightly  ;  "  you  and  I  arc  going  with 
the  seal-shooters.  They  never  get  near  anything,  so  we  cannot 
be  in  the  way.  I  assure  you,  sir,  we  shall  be  as  quiet  as  mice," 
she  adds,  addressing  the  Laird. 

"Ye  will  come  with  us,  and  ye  will  speak  just  as  much  as  ye 
please,"  said  the  Laird,  dogmatically.  "  What  signifies  a  seal  ? 
The  crayture  is  good  for  nothing.  And  the  idea  of  you  two  go- 
ing away  by  yourselves  into  the  country  !  No — no ;  come  away 
and  get  ready,  Howard.  If  ye  cannot  shoot  a  seal  with  the  two 
leddies  in  the  boat,  ye  will  never  do  it  without.  And  the  sea- 
breezes.  Miss  Mary,"  he  added,  with  an  approving  air,  "  are  better 
for  ye  than  the  land-breezes.  Oh  ay ;  ye  are  looking  just  fine 
this  morning." 

A  short  time  thereafter  he  was  on  deck,  looking  around  him 
at  the  pleasant  trees  and  the  blue  waters,  when  Miss  Avon  joined 
him,  fully  equipped  for  the  expedition ;  and  just  at  this  moment 
they  began  to  hear  a  sound  of  music  in  tlie  stillness  of  the  morn- 
ing air.  And  then  they  perceived  a  rude  old  rowing-boat,  pulled 
by  a  small  boy  of  twelve  or  so,  coming  nearer  and  nearer;  while 
another  small  boy  of  about  the  same  age  was  peacefully  reclining 


264  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

in  tlio  stern,  liis  head  thrown  back  so  that  it  met  the  full  glare  of 
the  morning  sun,  while  he  played  vigorously,  but  rather  inaccu- 
rately, "  The  Campbells  are  Coming,"  on  a  tin  whistle. 

"  Look  at  that !"  said  the  Laird,  with  delight ;  "  is  not  that  per- 
fect happiness  ?  Look  at  his  pride  and  laziness — having  another 
boy  to  pull  him  about,  while  he  shows  off  on  the  penny  whistle. 
Dear  me,  I  wish  I  was  that  young  rascal !" 

"  He  seems  happy  enough,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh. 

"  That  is  because  he  does  not  know  it,"  remarked  the  Laird, 
profoundly.  "  If  you  proved  to  him  that  he  was  happy,  it  would 
immediately  vanish." 

"  You  cannot  be  consciously  happy,  but  you  may  be  conscious- 
ly unhappy — that  is  rather  hard,"  said  she,  absentl3^ 

However,  these  two  philosophers  were  withdrawn  from  this 
occult  point  by  a  summons  from  the  Youth,  who  had  already 
got  the  rifles  and  cartridges  into  the  bow  of  the  gig.  And,  in- 
deed, as  we  rowed  away  from  the  yacht,  in  the  direction  of  the 
rocks  at  the  mouth  of  the  loch,  Miss  Avon  seemed  determined  to 
prove  that,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  she  was  happy  enough. 
She  would  not  even  allow  that  Angus  Sutherland  could  have  felt 
any  pang  of  regret  at  leaving  the  White  Dove  and  his  friends. 

"  Poor  chap !"  said  the  Laird,  with  some  compassion,  as  he 
turned  his  head  and  looked  away  toward  those  gloomy  hills,  "  it 
must  have  been  a  lonesome  journey  for  him  this  morning.  And 
he  so  fond  of  sailing,  too.  I'm  thinking,  when  he  saw  what  a 
nice  breeze  there  was,  he  was  rather  sorry  to  go  away.  I  should 
not  wonder  if  it  was  wi'  a  heavy  heart  that  he  went  on  board  the 
steamer." 

"Oh  no,  sir!  why  should  you  think  tliat?"  said  Mary  Avon, 
quickly  and  anxiously.  "If  Dr.  Sutlierland  had  nothing  to  con- 
sider but  yachting,  he  might  liave  been  sorry  to  go  away.  But 
think  what  lies  before  him ;  think  what  calls  him.  Look  at  the 
position  he  has  won  for  hiinsclf  already,  and  what  is  expected  of 
him.  And  you  would  have  him  throw  away  his  splendid  oppor- 
tunities in  yachting?  There  is  not  a  university  in  Europe  wliere 
he  is  not  known ;  there  is  not  a  man  of  science  in  Europe  who 
docs  not  expect  great  things  of  him ;  and — and  how  proud  his 
father  must  be  of  him  !" 

She  spoke  eagerly  and  almost  breathlessly ;  there  was  a  pink 
flush  in   lier  cheek,  but   it  was   not  from  sliamefacedness.     She 


TO    ABSENT    FRIENDS.  2G5 

seemed  desperately  anxious  to  convince  tlie  Laird  tliat  our  doctor 
oug'Iit  to  have  left  the  yacht,  and  must  have  left  the  yacht,  and 
could  not  do  anything  else  but  leave  the  yacht.  Meanwhile  her 
friend  and  hostess  regarded  her  curiously. 

"A  man  witli  such  capacities  as  he  has,"  continued  the  girl, 
warmly,  "  with  such  a  great  future  before  him,  owes  it  to  himself 
that  he  should  not  give  way  to  mere  sentiment.  The  world  could 
not  get  on  at  all  if  people — I  mean  if  the  great  people,  from  whom 
we  expect  much  —  were  always  to  be  consulting  their  feelings. 
Perhaps  he  was  sorry  to  leave  the  yacht.  He  does  like  sailing; 
and — and  I  think  he  liked  to  be  among  friends.  But  what  is 
that  when  he  knows  there  is  work  in  the  world  for  him  to  do  ? 
If  he  was  sorry  at  leaving  the  yacht,  you  may  depend  on  it  that 
that  had  passed  away  before  he  stepped  on  board  the  steamer. 
For  what  was  that  trifling  sentiment  compared  with  the  con- 
sciousness that  he  had  acted  rightly  ?" 

Something  about  the  precision  of  these  phrases — for  the  girl 
but  rarely  gave  way  to  such  a  fit  of  earnest  talking — seemed  to 
suggest  to  the  silent  person  who  was  watching  her,  that  this  was 
not  the  first  time  the  girl  had  thought  of  these  things. 

"  Idle  people,"  said  this  youthful  controversialist,  "  can  afford 
to  indulge  in  sentiment ;  but  not  those  who  have  to  do  great 
things  in  the  world.  And  it  is  not  as  if — Dr.  Sutherland" — 
she  always  faltered  the  least  bit  just  before  pronouncing  the  name 
— "  were  only  working  for  his  own  fame  or  his  own  wealth.  It  is 
for  the  good  of  mankind  that  he  is  working ;  and  if  he  has  to 
make  this  or  that  sacrifice,  he  knows  that  he  is  doing  right. 
What  other  reward  does  a  man  need  to  have  ?" 

"  I  am  thinking  of  the  poor  old  man  in  Banffshire,"  said  her 
friend  to  her,  thoughtfully.  "  If  Angus  goes  away  to  Italy  for 
some  years,  they  may  not  see  each  other  again." 

At  this  the  girl  turned  strangely  pale,  and  remained  silent ;  but 
she  was  unnoticed,  for  at  this  moment  all  attention  was  attracted 
toward  the  seals. 

There  they  were,  no  doubt,  and  in  large  numbers,  AVe  could 
see  the  occasionally  moving  forms,  scarcely  distinguishable  from 
the  brown  sea-weed,  on  the  long  projecting  points  of  the  low 
rocks;  while  here  and  there  one  of  the  animals  could  be  made 
out,  poising  himself  in  a  semicircle — head  and  tail  in  the  air — 
like   the   letter  O  with   the   upper  four-fifths  cut  off.     But  the 


266  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

problem  was,  how  to  get  anywhere  within  shot.  The  rocks,  or 
small  islands,  had  no  doubt  certain  eminences  in  the  middle,  but 
they  were  low  and  shallow  all  round.  Obviously  it  was  no  use 
bearing  straight  down  on  them  from  our  present  position;  so  it 
was  resolved  to  give  them  a  wide  berth,  to  pull  away  from  the 
islands  altogether,  and  then  approach  them  from  the  south,  if 
haply  there  might  in  this  wise  be  some  possibility  of  shelter. 
It  was  observed  that  Queen  Titania,  during  these  whispered  and 
eager  consultations,  smiled  gravely,  and  was  silent.  She  had 
been  in  the  Highlands  before. 

Seals  are  foolish  animals.  We  were  half  a  mile  away  from 
them ;  and  we  were  going  still  farther  away.  The  rocking  of 
the  water  made  it  impossible  for  us  to  try  a  hap-liazard  shot, 
even  if  we  had  had  a  rifle  that  would  have  carried  anything  like 
eight  hundred  yards  with  precision.  There  was  not  the  least 
reason  for  their  being  alarmed.  But  all  the  same,  as  we  silently 
and  slowly  paddled  away  from  them — actually  away  from  them 
— the  huge  bodies  one  by  one  flopped  and  waddled,  and  dropped 
into  the  water  with  a  splash.  In  about  a  minute  or  so  there  was 
not  a  seal  visible  through  our  best  binoculars ;  and  Queen  Tita- 
nia calmly  smiled. 

But,  as  everybody  knows,  there  are  two  sides  to  an  island,  as 
to  everything  else.  So  we  boldly  bore  down  on  the  shores  near- 
est us,  and  resolved,  on  getting  near,  on  a  cautious  and  silent  land- 
ing. After  many  a  trial  we  found  a  creek  where  the  stern  of  the 
gig  could  be  backed  into  fairly  deep  water,  along  a  ledge  of  rock, 
and  then  two  of  us  got  out.  The  ladies  produced  their  knitting 
materials. 

With  much  painful  stooping  and  crawling  we  at  length  reached 
the  middle  ridge,  and  there  laid  down  our  rifles  to  have  a  prelim- 
inary peep  round.  That  stealthy  glance  revealed  the  fact  that 
on  the  other  side,  also,  the  seals  had  been  alarmed,  and  had  left 
the  rocks ;  but  still  they  were  not  far  away.  We  could  see  l)ere 
and  there  a  black  and  glistening  head  moving  among  the  lapping 
waters.  Of  course  it  would  have  been  madness  to  have  risked 
our  all  on  a  random  shot  at  sea.  Hit  or  miss,  the  chances  were 
about  equal  we  should  not  get  the  seal,  so  we  quietly  retired  again 
behind  the  ridge  and  sat  down.  We  could  see  the  gig  and  its 
occu[)ants.  It  seemed  to  one  of  us  at  least  that  Queen  Titania 
was  still  amused. 


TO    ABSENT    FRIENDS.  267 

A  dead  silence :  while  we  idly  regard  the  washed-up  stores  of 
sea-shells  around  us,  and  patiently  await  the  return  of  the  seals  to 
the  rocks.  Then  a  sudden  noise,  that  makes  one's  heart  jump  :  a 
couple  of  terns  have  discovered  us,  and  the  irate  birds  go  wheel- 
ing and  shrieking  overhead  with  screams  that  would  have  aroused 
the  Sleeping  Beauty  and  all  her  household.  In  their  fright  and 
wrath  they  come  nearer  and  nearer;  at  times  they  remain  mo- 
tionless overhead ;  but  ever  continues  the  shrill  and  piercing 
shriek.  The  face  of  the  Youth  is  awful  to  see.  Again  and  again 
he  puts  up  his  rifle  ;  and  there  is  no  doubt  that,  if  he  were  to 
fire,  he  might  accomplish  that  feat  which  is  more  frequently  heard 
of  in  novels  than  elsewhere — shooting  a  bird  on  the  wing  with  a 
rifle.  But  then  he  is  loath  to  throw  away  his  last  chance.  With 
a  gesture  of  despair  he  lowers  his  weapon,  and  glances  toward 
the  gig.  Queen  Titania  has  caught  his  eye,  and  he  hers.  She  is 
laughing. 

At  length  we  venture  to  hazard  everything.  Furtively  each 
rifle  is  protruded  over  the  ledge  of  rock ;  and  furtively  each  head 
creeps  up  by  the  stock,  the  hand  on  the  trigger-guard.  The  cau- 
tion is  unnecessary.  There  is  not  a  sign  of  any  living  thing  all 
around  the  shores.  Even  the  two  sea-swallows,  alarmed  by  our 
moving,  have  wheeled  away  into  the  distance :  we  are  left  in  un- 
disturbed possession  of  the  island.  Then  the  Youth  clambers  up 
to  the  top  of  the  rocks,  and  looks  around.  A  skart,  perched  on 
a  far  ledge,  immediately  takes  flight,  striking  the  water  with  his 
heavy  wings  before  he  can  get  well  on  his  way ;  thereafter  a  dead 
silence. 

"  It  was  the  tern  that  did  that,"  says  the  Youth,  moodily,  as 
we  return  to  the  gig.    "  The  seals  must  have  known  well  enough." 

"They  generally  do  contrive  to  know  somehow,"  is  the  an- 
swer of  one  who  is  not  much  disappointed,  and  who  is  still  less 
surprised. 

But  this  wicked  woman  all  a-laughing  when  we  return  to  the 

gig ! 

"  Come,  children,"  says  she,  "  we  shall  barely  be  back  in  time 
for  lunch ;  and  we  shall  be  all  the  longer  that  Angus  is  not  here 
to  sing  his  '  Ho,  ro,  clansmen  !'  But  the  quicker  the  sooner,  as 
the  Highlandman  said.     Jump  in  !" 

"  It  was  all  owing  to  those  sea-swallows,"  remarks  the  Youth, 
gloomily. 


268  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

"  Never  mind,"  says  she,  with  great  equanimity.  "  Mary  and 
I  knew  you  would  not  shoot  anything,  or  we  should  not  have 
come.  Let  us  hasten  back  to  see  what  Fred  has  shot  for  us  with 
his  silver  sixpences." 

And  so  we  tumble  into  the  gig,  and  push  away,  and  have  a 
long  swinging  pull  back  to  the  White  Dove. 

There  is  still  some  measure  of  justice  meted  out  upon  the 
earth.  The  face  of  this  fiend  who  has  been  laughing  at  us  all 
the  morning  becomes  a  trifle  more  anxious  when  she  draws  near 
the  yacht.  For  there  is  Master  Fred  idling  up  at  the  bow,  instead 
of  being  below  looking  after  the  vast  stores  he  has  got  on  board ; 
and,  moreover,  as  we  draw  near,  and  as  he  comes  along  to  the 
gangway,  any  one  can  perceive  that  our  good  Frederick  d'or  is 
not  in  a  facetious  frame  of  mind. 

"  Well,  Fred,  have  you  got  a  good  supply  at  last  ?"  she  cries, 
taking  hold  of  the  rope,  and  putting  her  foot  on  the  step. 

Fred  mumbles  something  in  reply. 

"  What  have  you  got  ?"  she  says,  when  she  is  on  deck.  "  Any 
game  ?" 

"  No,  mem." 

"  Oh,  never  mind ;  the  fowls  will  do  very  well." 

Fred  is  rather  silent,  until  he  explains  that  he  could  not  get 
any  fowls. 

"  No  fowls  ?  What  butcher' s-meat,  then  ?"  says  she,  somewhat 
indignantly. 

"None." 

"  None  ? — nothing  ?"  says  she ;  and  a  low  titter  begins  to  pre- 
vail among  the  assembled  crowd.  "  Have  you  not  got  a  joint  of 
any  sort?" 

Fred  is  almost  unwilling  to  confess — he  is  ashamed,  angry,  dis- 
concerted.    At  last  he  blurts  out, 

"  I  could  get  nothing  at  all,  mem,  but  fower  loaves." 

At  this  there  was  a  roar  of  laughter.  What  had  become  of  all 
her  fresh  milk,  and  butter,  and  eggs;  her  mutton,  and  fowls,  and 
cutlets;  her  grouse,  and  snipe,  and  hares?  We  did  not  care  for 
our  j)nvation  ;  we  only  rejoiced  in  her  discomfiture. 

"That  is  just  like  a  Scotch  village  !"  says  she,  savagely;  "spend- 
ing all  its  money  on  a  church-bell,  and  not  able  to  keep  a  decent 
shop  open  !  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  could  not  get  a  carrot,  or 
a  cabbage,  or  a  pennyworth  of  milk  ?" 


TO    ABSENT    FRIENDS.  269 

"  No,  mem." 

"  John,"  she  says,  in  a  domineering  way,  "  why  don't  you  get 
the  sails  up  ?     What  is  the  use  of  staying  in  a  place  like  this  ?" 

John  comes  forward  timidly,  and  stroking  his  great  beard :  he 
half  believes  in  these  furious  rages  of  hers. 

"  Oh  yes,  mem ;  if  ye  please,  mem,  I  will  get  the  sail  set ;  but 
— but  the  tide  will  be  turning  soon,  mem,  and  the  wind  she  will 
be  against  us  as  soon  as  we  get  out  of  the  loch ;  and  it  will  be 
a  long,  long  time  before  we  get  to  Crinan.  I  not  well  acquent 
Avith  this  place,  mem  :  if  we  were  up  in  our  own  part  of  the 
Highlands,  do  you  think  the  people  would  let  the  White  Dove  be 
so  long  without  the  fresh  cabbage  and  the  milk  ?  No ;  I  not 
think  that,  mem." 

"  But  we  are  not  in  our  own  part  of  the  Highlands,"  says  she, 
querulously  ;  "  and  do  you  think  we  are  going  to  starve  ?  How- 
ever, I  suppose  Fred  can  give  us  a  biscuit.     Let  us  go  below." 

Our  lunch  was,  in  truth,  simple  enough ;  but  perhaps  it  was 
this  indirect  appeal  to  Fred  that  determined  that  worthy  to  sur- 
prise us  at  dinner  that  evening.  First  of  all,  after  we  had  re- 
turned from  another  ineffectual  seal-hunt,  we  found  he  had  dec- 
orated the  dinner -table  in  an  elaborate  manner.  There  was  a 
clean  cloth,  shining  with  the  starch  in  it.  There  was  a  great 
dish  of  scarlet  rowans  in  the  middle  of  the  table ;  and  the  rowans 
had  a  border  of  white  heather — gathered  at  Loch-na-Chill :  the 
rowans  were  for  lovely  color,  the  heather  was  for  luck.  Then, 
not  content  with  that,  he  had  put  all  our  available  silver  on  the 
table,  including  the  candlesticks  and  the  snuffer-tray,  though  the 
sun  had  not  yet  sunk  behind  the  Jura  hills.  But  the  banquet 
defies  description.  The  vast  basin  of  steaming  kidney  soup,  the 
boiled  lithe,  the  fried  mackerel,  the  round  of  tongue,  the  corned 
beef,  the  tomatoes,  the  pickles,  the  sardines,  the  convolutions  of 
pudding  and  apricot  jam — what  fish-monger,  or  dry-salter,  or  gun- 
maker  could  have  wanted  more  ?  Nor  was  there  any  Apemantus 
at  the  feast ;  there  was  the  smiling  and  benign  countenance  of 
the  Laird,  who  again  and  again  made  facetious  remarks  about 
the  kirk  bell  of  Clachan.     Then  he  said,  more  formally, 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  am  going  to  ask  ye  to  drink  a 
toast." 

"  Oh,  uncle,"  said  the  Youth,  deprecatingly,  "  we  are  not  at  a 
Commissioners'  meetino-  at  Stratho-ovan  !" 


270  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 

"And  I  will  thank  ye  to  fill  your  glasses,"  said  the  Laird,  tak- 
ing no  lieed  of  Young  England  and  his  modern  want  of  manners. 
"  I  have  to  ask  ye,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  to  drink  the  health  of 
one  who  is  an  old  and  valued  friend  of  some  of  us,  who  is  ad- 
mired and  respected  by  us  all.  It  would  ill  become  us,  now  that 
he  has  been  separated  from  us  but  by  a  day,  that  we  should  for- 
get him  in  his  absence.  We  have  come  in  close  contact  with 
him  ;  we  have  seen  his  fine  qualities  of  temper  and  character ; 
and  I  am  sure  no  one  present  will  contradict  me  when  I  say  that, 
great  as  are  his  abeelities,  they  are  not  more  remarkable  than  his 
modesty,  and  his  good-humor,  and  his  simple,  plain,  frank  ways. 
With  a  man  of  less  solid  judgment,  I  might  be  afraid  of  certain 
dangerous  tendencies  of  these  times ;  but  our  friend  has  a  Scotch 
head  on  his  shoulders ;  he  may  be  dazzled  by  their  new-fangled 
speculations,  but  not  convinced  —  not  convinced.  It  is  a  rare 
thing — I  will  say  it,  thoflgh  I  am  but  a  recent  acquaintance,  and 
do  not  know  him  as  well  as  some  now  at  this  hospitable  board — 
to  find  such  powers  of  intellect  united  with  such  a  quiet  and  un- 
assuming manliness.  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  give  ye  the  health 
of  Dr.  Angus  Sutherland.  We  regret  that  he  has  gone  from  us  ; 
but  we  know  that  duty  calls,  and  we  honor  the  man  who  stands 
to  his  guns.  It  may  be  that  we  may  see  him  in  these  waters 
once  more,  it  may  be  that  we  may  not ;  but  whatever  may  be  in 
store  for  him  or  for  us,  we  know  he  will  be  worthy  of  the  hopes 
we  build  on  him,  and  we  drink  his  health  now  in  his  absence,  and 
wish  him  godspeed !" 

"  Hear !  hear !"  cried  the  Youth,  who  was  greatly  amused  by 
this  burst  of  old-fashioned  eloquence.  But  Mary  Avon  sat  white 
and  trembling,  and  quite  forgot  to  put  the  glass  to  her  lips.  It 
was  her  hostess  who  spoke  next,  with  a  laugh. 

"I  think,  sir,"  said  she,  "I  might  give  you  a  hint.  If  you 
were  to  go  up  on  deck  and  ask  the  men  whether  they  would  like 
to  drink  Angus's  health,  I  don't  think  they  would  refuse." 

"  It  is  a  most  capital  suggestion,"  said  the  Laird,  rising  to  take 
down  his  wide-awake. 


SUSPICIONS.  271 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

SUSPICIONS. 

It  was  handsomely  done  on  tlie  part  of  the  Laird,  to  pay  tliat 
tribute  to  his  vanquished  and  departed  enemy.  But  next  morn- 
ing, as  we  were  getting  under  way,  he  got  a  chance  of  speaking 
to  his  hostess  alone,  and  he  could  not  quite  forego  a  little  bit  of 
boasting  over  his  superior  astuteness  and  prescience. 

"  What  did  I  say,  ma'am,"  he  asked,  with  a  confident  chuckle, 
"  when  ye  made  a  communication  to  me  on  the  subject  of  our 
friend  who  has  just  left  us?  Did  I  not  offer  to  make  ye  a  Avager, 
though  I  am  but  little  of  a  gambler?  A  gold  ring,  a  sixpence, 
and  a  silver  thimble ;  did  I  not  offer  to  wager  ye  these  three  ar- 
ticles that  your  guesses  were  not  quite  correct  ?  And  what  has 
become  of  Dr.  Sutherland  now  ?" 

His  hostess  is  not  in  this  gay  humor.  She  answers  with  a 
touch  of  reserve : 

"  If  I  made  any  mistake,  it  was  about  Mary.  And  I  had  no 
right  to  suspect  anything,  for  she  never  took  me  into  her  confi- 
dence ;  and  I  do  not  approve  of  elderly  people  prying  into  the 
affairs  of  young  people." 

"Pry?"  says  the  Laird,  loftily  and  graciously.  "  No,  no  ;  no 
prying.  But  judgment — is  there  any  harm  in  one  keeping  one's 
eyes  open  ?  And  did  not  I  tell  ye,  ma'am,  to  be  of  good  heart — 
that  everything  would  go  properly  and  smoothly  ?" 

"  And  has  it  ?"  she  says,  sharply,  and  looking  up  with  a  glance 
of  indignation. 

The  Laird,  however,  is  so  wrapped  up  in  his  own  thoughts  that 
he  does  not  notice  this  protest. 

"  She  is  a  fine  lass,  that,"  he  says,  with  decision.  "  Did  ye 
ever  hear  a  young  girl  speak  such  clear  common -sense  as  she 
spoke  yesterday  about  that  very  doctor?  There  is  no  affected 
sentiment  —  there  is  nothing  of  your  Clarinda  and  Philander 
noavel- writing — about  that  lass:  did  ye  ever  hear  such  good, 
sound,  clear  common-sense  ?" 


272  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    VACHTING    ROMANCE. 

"  I  heard  her,"  says  his  hostess,  shortly. 

By  this  time  we  had  weighed  anchor,  and  the  White  Dove  was 
slowly  sailing  down  the  loch  before  a  light  northerly  breeze. 
Then  Mary  Avon  came  on  deck,  followed  by  the  attentive  Youth. 
And  while  everybody  on  board  was  eagerly  noticing  things 
ahead — the  seals  on  the  rocks  at  the  mouth  of  the  loch,  the  windy 
gray  sea  beyond,  and  the  blue  mountains  of  Jura — Mary  Avon 
alone  looked  backward  to  the  low  lines  of  hills  we  were  leaving. 
She  sat  silent  and  apart. 

The  Laird  stepped  over  to  her. 

"  AVe  have  just  been  talking  about  the  doctor,"  says  he,  cheer- 
fully. "And  we  were  saying  there  was  plenty  of  good  common- 
sense  in  what  ye  said  yesterday  about  his  duties  and  his  pros- 
pects. Oh  ay  !  But  then,  ye  ken.  Miss  Mary,  even  the  busiest 
and  the  wisest  of  men  must  have  their  holiday  at  times ;  and  I 
have  just  been  thinking  that  if  we  can  get  Dr.  Sutherland  to 
come  with  us  next  year,  we  will  maybe  surprise  him  by  what  ye 
can  do  wi'  a  steam-yacht.  Why,  during  the  time  we  have  been 
lying  hei'e,  we  might  have  run  across  to  Ireland  and  back  in  a 
steam-yacht.  It  is  true,  there  would  be  less  enjoyment  for  him 
in  the  sailing ;  but  still  there  are  compensations." 

His  hostess  has  overheard  all  this.  She  says,  in  her  gentle  way, 
but  with  a  cold  and  cruel  clearness, 

"You  know,  sir,  that  is  quite  impossible.  Angus  will  not  be 
in  Scotland  for  many  a  day  to  come." 

The  girl's  face  is  hidden  ;  apparently  she  is  still  gazing  back 
on  those  slowly  receding  hills. 

"  Toots  !  toots !"  says  the  Laird,  briskly.  "  The  lad  is  not  a 
fool.  He  will  make  an  occasion  if  he  considers  it  desirable : 
there  is  no  compulsion  that  he  must  remain  in  Eetaly.  I  think 
I  would  even  lay  a  wager  that  we  will  have  just  the  same  party, 
and  the  doctor  included,  on  that  steam-yacht  next  year,  and  in  this 
very  place.     Is  it  a  wager,  ma'am  ?" 

"I  am  afraid  you  must  leave  us  out,"  she  remarks,  "at  all 
events.  And  as  for  Angus  Sutherland,  I  shall  be  surprised  if 
ever  he  sees  West  Loch  Tarbert  again." 

Why  had  not  Mary  Avon  spoken?  The  Laird  went  a  step 
nearer  her,  and  put  his  hand  gently  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Well,  Miss  Mary,"  said  he,"  what  are  we  to  do  to  show  these  peo- 
ple their  folly  and  wickedness — eh  ?    I  think  1  will  leave  it  to  you." 


SUSPICIONS.  2V3 

"  Oil  no,  sir."  This,  or  sometliing  like  this,  slie  was  under- 
stood to  say,  in  a  low  voice ;  but  at  the  same  moment  she  rose 
quickly,  crossed  the  deck,  put  a  trembling  hand  on  the  corapan- 
ion-way,  and  went  below.  Just  as  she  disappeared  she  could  not 
quite  conceal  her  face,  and  there  was  a  look  on  it  that  startled 
the  Laird.  Had  the  girl  been  stealthily  crying  all  the  time  she 
had  been  looking  back  at  those  distant  hills  ? 

The  Laird  was  greatly  disturbed.  He  said  nothing,  for  he 
would  not  have  it  understood  that  anything  had  happened ;  but 
any  one  could  see  by  his  preoccupied  manner  that  he  was  seri- 
ously troubled.  He  had  directed  a  quick,  sharp  glance  of  sur- 
prise and  inquiry  at  his  hostess,  but  just  then  she  was  stepping 
aside  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  Captain  John.  The  Laird  sat 
down  by  himself,  and  remained  in  a  profound  silence.  He  seem- 
ed to  pay  no  attention  to  what  was  going  on. 

But  there  was  brisk  work  enough  all  over  the  yacht ;  for  now 
we  had  got  clear  of  the  long  promontory  and  its  islands ;  and  out 
here  in  the  open  there  was  a  pretty  heavy  sea  running,  while  the 
wind  began  to  freshen  up  a  bit.  There  was  a  squally  look  about 
the  sea  and  sky :  it  was  considered  prudent  to  lower  the  topsail. 
Now  and  again  there  was  a  heavy  shock  at  the  bows,  and  then  a 
dipping  of  heads  to  dodge  the  flying  shreds  of  spray.  In  the 
midst  of  all  this  Miss  Avon  appeared  again. 

"  I  thought  we  should  catch  it !"  said  she,  in  the  blithest  of 
tones ;  and  she  addressed  herself  particularly  to  the  Laird.  "And 
it  is  better  to  be  prepared.  But  oh  dear  me!  what  a  nuisance 
a  water-proof  is !"' 

And,  indeed,  the  wind  was  blowing  that  hooded  and  caped  gar- 
ment all  about  her  head,  so  that  her  dark  hair  was  becoming  con- 
siderably dishevelled.  The  Youth  came  to  her  assistance ;  put  a 
cushion  and  a  shawl  for  her  just  beside  her  hostess,  under  the  lee 
of  the  weather  bulwarks  ;  then  she  snugly  ensconced  herself  there, 
and  seemed  to  be  very  merry  and  happy  indeed. 

"  Don't  you  often  wish  you  were  a  fish,  when  the  weather  is 
wet,"  she  says,  gayly,  to  her  friend,  "  so  that  you  might  be  per- 
fectly indifferent  V  And  here  she  cries  "  Oh  !"  again,  because  a 
drop  or  two  of  spray  has  come  flying  past  the  keel  of  the  gig,  and 
just  caught  her  on  the  crown  of  her  water-proof. 

Nothing  can  exceed  her  talk,  her  laughter,  her  cheerfulness. 
She  nestles  close  to  her  friend ;  she  is  like  a  spoiled  child ;  she 

13* 


274  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

makes  fun  of  the  Youth's  attempts  to  steer.  And  the  Laird  is 
regarding  her  with  a  grave  wonder — perhaps  with  some  dark  sus- 
picion— when  she  lightly  addresses  herself  to  him  again : 

"  But  what  about  that  strong  man,  sir  ?  You  were  going  to 
tell  us  the  story  yesterday,  when  you  were  interrupted." 

It  was  a  cunning  device.  How  could  a  professed  story-teller 
refuse  to  rise  to  the  bait?  The  watchfulness  disappeared  from 
the  face  of  the  Laird ;  in  its  place  a  sort  of  anticipatory  laughter 
began  to  shine. 

"  But  it  was  Tom  Galbraith  heard  of  that  man,"  said  he,  in  a 
deprecating  way.  "  Did  I  not  tell  ye  ?  Oh  ay,  it  was  Tom  Gal- 
braith heard  of  him  when  he  was  in  Ross-shire ;  and  it  was  he 
told  me  of  the  wonderful  things  that  man  could  do,  according  to 
the  natives.  Did  not  I  tell  ye  of  his  rolling  an  enormous  stone 
up  a  hill,  and  of  the  stone  being  split  into  nine  pieces ;  yet  not 
any  one  man  could  roll  up  one  of  the  nine  pieces?  But  I  was 
going  to  tell  ye  of  his  being  in  Prince's  Street,  Edinburgh,  and  a 
coach-and-four  was  coming  whirling  along ;  the  horses  had  run 
away,  and  no  one  could  stop  them.  McKinlay  was  walking  along 
the  street  when  the  people  called  to  him  to  look  out,  for  the  four 
horses  were  running  mad;  but  the  Ross-shire  Samson  was  not 
afraid.     No,  no — " 

Here  a  wisp  of  spray  somewhat  disconcerted  the  Laird ;  but 
only  for  a  moment.  He  wiped  the  salt-water  from  the  side  of 
his  neck  and  continued,  with  suppressed  laughter  bubbling  up  in 
his  eyes, 

"The  man  that  told  Tom  Galbraith,"  said  ho,  "was  a  solemn 
believer,  and  spoke  with  reverence.  '  McKinlay,'  says  he, '  he  will 
turn  to  the  street,  and  he  will  grab  at  the  four  horses  and  the 
coach,  and  he  will  took  them  up  in  his  two  hands — shist  like  a 
mice  /'  " 

^^Shist  like  a  micey  The  Laird  preserved  a  stern  silence.  The 
humor  of  this  story  was  so  desperately  occult  that  he  would  leave 
the  coarse  applause  to  us.  Only  there  was  an  odd  light  in  his 
eyes,  and  we  knew  that  it  was  all  he  could  do  to  prevent  his  burst- 
ing out  into  a  roar  of  laughter.  But  Mary  Avon  laughed,  until 
John  of  Skye,  who  had  not  heard  a  word,  grinned,  out  of  pure 
sympathy. 

"  He  must  have  been  the  man,"  said  Miss  Avon,  diffidently — 
for  she  did  not  like  to  encroach  on  the  Laird's  province — "  whom 


SUSPICIONS.  275 

Captain  John  told  mc  about,  who  could  drink  whiskey  so  strong 
that  a  drop  of  it  would  burn  a  white  mark  on  a  tarred  rope." 

But  the  Laird  was  not  jealous. 

"  Very  good  —  very  good !"  he  cried,  with  extreme  delight. 
"Excellent  —  a  real  good  one!  'Deed,  I'll  tell  that  to  Tom 
Galbraith." 

And  the  high  spirits  and  the  facetiousness  of  these  two  chil- 
dren continued  through  lunch.  That  was  rather  a  wild  meal, 
considering  that  we  were  still  sawing  across  the  boisterous  Sound 
of  Jura,  in  the  teeth  of  a  fresh  northerly  breeze.  However,  noth- 
ing could  exceed  the  devotion  of  the  Youth,  who  got  scarcely  any 
luncheon  at  all  in  his  efforts  to  control  the  antics  of  pickle-jars, 
and  to  bolster  up  bottles.  Then,  when  everything  was  secure, 
there  would  be  an  ominous  call  overhead,  ''''Stand  by  forrard, 
boysP''  followed  by  a  period  of  frantic  revolution  and  panic. 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  Laird,  when  we  got  on  deck  again  ;  "  a 
sense  of  humor  is  a  great  power  in  human  affairs.  A  man  in 
public  life  without  it  is  like  a  ship  without  a  helm  :  he  is  sure  to 
go  and  do  something  redeeclous  that  a  smaller  man  w<5uld  have 
avoided  altogether.  Ay,  my  father's  sense  of  humor  was  often 
said  by  people  to  be  quite  extraordinar' — quite  extraordinar'.  I 
make  no  pretensions  that  way  maself." 

Here  the  Laird  waved  his  hand,  as  if  to  deprecate  any  courte- 
ous protest. 

"  No,  no  ;  I  have  no  pretensions  that  way ;  but  sometimes  a 
bit  joke  comes  in  verra  well  when  ye  are  dealing  with  solemn  and 
pretentious  asses.     There  is  one  man  in  Strathgovan — " 

But  here  the  Laird's  contempt  of  this  dull  person  could  not 
find  vent  in  words.  He  put  up  both  hands,  palm  outw^ard,  and 
shook  them,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  A  most  desperately  stupid  ass,  and  as  loquacious  as  a  parrot. 
I  mind  fine  when  I  was  giving  my  earnest  attention  to  the  sub- 
ject of  our  police  system.  I  may  tell  ye,  ma'am,  that  our  burgh 
stretches  over  about  a  mile  each  way,  and  that  it  has  a  popula- 
tion of  over  eight  thousand  souls,  with  a  vast  quantity  of  valuable 
property  ;  and  up  till  that  time  we  had  but  two  policemen  on  duty 
at  the  same  time  during  the  night.  It  was  my  opeenion  that  that 
number  was  quite  inahdequate ;  and  I  stated  my  opeenion  at  a 
meeting  of  the  Commissioners  convened  for  that  purpose.  Well, 
would  ye  believe  it,  this  meddlesome  body,  Johnny  Guthrie,  got 


276  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

upon  his  legs,  and  preached  and  preached  away ;  and  all  that  he 
had  to  tell  us  was  that  we  could  not  add  to  the  number  of  police 
without  the  consent  of  the  Commissioners  of  Supply  and  the 
Home-secretary.  Bless  me  !  what  bairn  is  there  but  knows  that  ? 
I'll  be  bound,  Miss  Mary  there,  though  she  comes  from  England, 
would  know  as  much  about  public  affairs  as  that." 

"  I — I  am  afraid  not,  sir,"  said  she. 

"  No  matter — no  matter.  Live  and  learn.  When  ye  come  to 
Strathgovan  we'll  begin  and  teach  ye.  However,  as  I  was  say  in', 
this  bletherin'  poor  crayture  went  on  and  on,  and  it  was  all  about 
the  one  point,  until  I  got  up,  and, '  Mr.  Provost,'  says  I, '  there  are 
some  human  beings  it  would  be  idle  to  answer.  Their  loquacity 
is  a  sort  of  function ;  they  perspire  through  their  tongue — like  a 
doag.'     Ye  should  have  seen  Johnny  Guthrie's  face  after  that !" 

And  here  the  Laird  laughed  and  laughed  again  at  Johnny 
Guthrie's  discomfiture. 

"  But  he  was  a  poor  bletherin'  crayture,"  he  continued,  with  a 
kind  of  compassion.  "  Providence  made  him  what  he  is ;  but 
sometimes  I  think  Johnny  tries  to  make  himself  even  more  re- 
deeclous  than  Providence  could  fairly  and  honestly  have  intended. 
He  attacked  me  most  bitterly  because  I  got  a  committee  appointed 
to  represent  to  the  postmaster  that  we  should  have  a  later  delivery 
at  night.  He  attacked  me  most  bitterly ;  and  yet  I  think  it  was 
one  of  the  greatest  reforms  ever  introduced  into  our  burgh." 

"  Oh,  indeed,  sir  !"  says  his  hostess,  with  earnest  attention. 

"  Yes,  indeed.  The  postmaster  is  a  most  civil,  worthy,  and 
respectable  man,  though  it  was  a  sore  blow  to  him  when  his 
daughter  took  to  going  to  the  Episcopal  Church  in  Glasgow. 
However,  with  liis  assistance,  we  now  get  the  letters  that  used 
to  be  delivered  in  the  forenoon  delivered  late  the  night  before; 
and  we  have  a  mail  made  up  at  10  p.m.,  which  is  a  great  conve- 
nience. And  that  man  Johnny  Guthrie  gabbling  away  as  if  the 
French  Revolution  were  coming  back  on  us  !  I  am  a  Conserva- 
tive myself,  as  ye  know,  ma'am  ;  but  I  say  that  we  must  march 
with  the  times.  No  standing  still  in  these  days.  However,  ye 
will  get  Johnny  Guthries  everywhere ;  poor  bletherin'  craytures, 
who  have  no  capacity  for  taking  a  large  view  of  public  affairs — 
bats  and  blind  worms,  as  it  were :  I  suppose  there  is  a  use  for 
them,  as  it  has  pleased  Providence  to  create  them  ;  but  it  would 
puzzle  an  ordinary  person  to  find  it  out." 


SUSPICIONS.  277 

With  mueli  of  tlic  like  wise  discourse  did  tlie  Laird  beguile 
our  northward  voyage ;  and  apparently  he  had  forgotten  that 
little  incident  about  Mary  Avon  in  the  morning.  The  girl  was 
as  much  interested  as  any  one ;  laughed  at  the  "  good  ones ;" 
was  ready  to  pour  her  contempt  on  the  Johnny  Guthries  who 
opposed  the  projects  of  the  Laird's  statesmanship.  And  in  this 
manner  we  fought  our  way  against  the  stiff  northerly  breeze, 
until  evening  found  us  off  the  mouth  of  Loch  Crinan.  Here  we 
proposed  to  run  in  for  the  night,  so  that  we  should  have  day- 
light and  a  favorable  tide  to  enable  us  to  pass  through  the  Doruis 
Mohr. 

It  was  a  beautiful,  quiet  evening  in  this  sheltered  bay ;  and 
after  dinner  we  were  all  on  deck,  reading,  smoking,  and  what 
not.  The  Laird  and  Mary  Avon  were  playing  chess  together. 
The  glow  of  the  sunset  was  still  in  the  western  sky,  and  reflected 
on  the  smooth  water  around  us ;  though  Jura  and  Scarba  were 
of  a  dark,  soft,  luminous  rose-purple. 

Chess  is  a  silent  game ;  the  Laird  was  not  surprised  that  his 
companion  did  not  speak  to  him.  And  so  absorbed  was  he  with 
his  knights  and  bishops  that  he  did  not  notice  that,  in  the  abso- 
lute silence  of  this  still  evening,  one  of  the  men  forward  was  idly 
whistling  to  himself  the  sad  air  of  Lochaber : 

"  Lochaber  uo  more  !  and  Lochaber  no  more ! 
"We'll  maybe  return  to  Lochaber  no  more !" 

It  was  the  old  and  familiar  refrain  :  Hector  of  Moidart  was  prob- 
ably not  thinking  of  Lochaber  at  all. 

But  suddenly  the  Laird,  staring  down  at  the  board,  perceived 
some  little  tiny  thing  drop  on  the  farther  edge  from  him,  and  he 
quickly  looked  up.  The  girl  was  crying.  Instantly  he  put  out 
his  great  hand  and  took  hers,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice,  full  of 
gentleness  and  a  tender  sympathy, 

"  Dear  me,  lassie,  what  is  the  matter  ?" 

But  Mary  Avon  hastily  pulled  out  her  handkerchief  and  pass- 
ed it  across  her  eyes,  and  said,  hurriedly, 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon  !  it  is  nothing :  I — I  was  thinking  of 
something  else.     And  is  it  your  move  or  mine,  sir?" 

The  Laird  looked  at  her,  but  her  eyes  were  cast  down.  He 
did  not  pay  so  much  attention  to  the  game  after  that. 


278  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

certainty. 

Next  morning  there  is  a  lively  commotion  on  board.  The 
squally,  blustering-looking  skies,  the  glimpses  of  the  white  horses 
out  there  on  the  driven  green  sea,  and  the  fresh  northerly  breeze 
that  comes  in  gusts  and  swirls  about  the  rigging,  all  tell  us  that 
we  shall  have  some  hard  work  before  we  pierce  the  Doruis  Mohr. 

"You  won't  want  for  wind  to-day.  Captain  John,"  says  the 
Youth,  who  is  waiting  to  give  the  men  a  hand  at  the  windlass. 

"  'Deed,  no,"  says  John  of  Skye,  with  a  grim  smile.  "  This  is 
the  kind  of  day  that  Dr.  Sutherland  would  like,  and  the  White 
Dove  going  through  the  Doruis  Mohr,  too  !" 

However,  the  Laird  seems  to  take  no  interest  in  what  is  going 
forward.  All  the  morning  he  has  been  silent  and  preoccupied, 
occasionally  approaching  his  hostess,  but  never  getting  an  oppor- 
tunity of  speaking  with  her  alone.  At  last,  when  he  observes 
that  every  one  is  on  deck,  and  eagerly  watching  the  White  Dove 
getting  under  way,  he  covertly  and  quietly  touches  our  Admiral 
on  the  arm. 

"I  would  speak  to  ye  below  for  a  moment,  ma'am,"  he  says,  in 
a  whisper. 

And  so,  unnoticed  amidst  all  this  bustle,  she  follows  him  down 
into  the  saloon,  wondering  not  a  little.  And  as  soon  as  he  has 
shut  the  door  he  plunges  in  medias  res. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am  ;  but  I  must  speak  to  ye ;  it  is 
about  your  friend  Miss  Mary.  Have  ye  not  observed  that  she  is 
sorely  troubled  about  something,  though  she  puts  a  brave  face  on 
it,  and  will  not  acknowledge  it  ?  Have  ye  not  seen  it — have  ye 
not  guessed  that  she  is  grievously  troubled  about  some  matter  or 
other  ?" 

"  I  have  guessed  it,"  said  the  other. 

"I'oor  lass!  poor  lass!"  said  the  Laird;  and  then  he  added, 
thoughtfully,  "  It  is  no  small  matter  that  can  affect  so  light- 
hearted  a  creature  :  that  is  what  I  want  to  ask  ye.     Do  ye  know  ? 


CERTAINTY.  279 

Have  yc  giiesscd?  Surely  it  is  something  that  some  of  us  can 
help  her  wi'.  Indeed,  it  just  distresses  me  beyond  measure  to 
see  that  trouble  in  her  face ;  and  when  I  see  her  try  to  conceal  it, 
and  to  make  believe  that  everything  is  well  with  her,  I  feel  as  if 
there  was  nothing  I  would  not  do  for  the  poor  lass." 

"But  I  don't  think  either  you  or  I  can  help.  Young  people 
must  manage  their  affairs  for  themselves,"  says  his  hostess,  some- 
what coldly. 

"  But  what  is  it  ?— what  is  it  ?    What  is  troubling  her «" 

Queen  Titania  regards  him  for  a  moment,  apparently  uncertain 
as  to  how  far  she  should  go.     At  last  she  says : 

"  Well,  I  am  not  revealing  any  confidence  of  Mary's,  for  she 
has  told  me  nothing  about  it ;  but  I  may  as  well  say  at  once 
that  when  we  were  in  West  Loch  Tarbert,  Dr.  Sutherland  asked 
her  to  be  his  wife,  and  she  refused  him ;  and  now  I  suppose  she 
is  breaking  her  heart  about  it." 

"Dear  me  !  dear  me  !"  says  the  Laird,  with  eyes  open  w^ide. 

"  It  is  always  the  way  with  girls,"  says  the  other,  with  a  cruel 
cynicism.  Whether  they  say  '  Yes '  or  '  No,'  they  are  sure  to  cry 
over  it.  And  naturally  ;  for  whether  they  say  '  Yes '  or  '  No,' 
they  are  sure  to  have  made  an  irretrievable  blunder." 

The  Laird  is  slowly  recovering  from  his  first  shock  of  surprise. 

"  But  if  she  did  refuse  him,  surely  that  is  what  any  one  would 
have  expected  ?     There  is  nothing  singular  in  that." 

"  Pardon  me ;  I  think  there  is  something  very  singular,"  she 
says,  warmly.  "  I  don't  see  how  any  one  could  have  been  with 
these  two  up  in  the  North,  and  not  perceived  that  there  was  an 
understanding  between  them.  If  any  girl  ever  encouraged  a  man, 
she  did.  Why,  sir,  when  you  proposed  that  your  nephew  should 
come  with  us,  and  make  love  to  Mary,  I  said,  '  Yes,'  because  I 
thought  it  would  be  merely  a  joke.  I  thought  he  would  please 
you  by  consenting,  and  not  harm  anybody  else.  But  now  it  has 
turned  out  quite  different,  and  Angus  Sutherland  has  gone  away." 

And  at  this  there  was  a  return  of  the  proud  and  hurt  look  into 
her  eyes.  Angus  was  her  friend ;  she  had  not  expected  this  idle 
boy  would  have  supplanted  him. 

The  Laird  was  greatly  disturbed.  The  beautiful  picture  that 
he  had  been  painting  for  himself  during  this  summer  idleness  of 
ours — filling  in  the  details  with  a  lingering  and  loving  care — 
seetned  to  fade  away  into  impalpable  mist,  and  he  was  confronted 


280  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

b}^  blank  chaos.  And  this,  loo,  just  at  the  moment  when  the  de- 
parture of  the  doctor  appeared  to  render  all  his  plans  doubly 
secure. 

He  rose. 

"  I  will  think  over  it,  ma'am,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  I  am  obliged 
to  ye  for  your  information :  perhaps  I  was  not  as  observant  as  I 
should  have  been." 

Then  she  sought  to  stay  him  for  a  moment. 

"  Don't  you  think,  sir,"  said  she,  timidly,  "  it  would  be  better 
for  neither  you  nor  I  to  interfere  ?" 

The  Laird  turned. 

"  I  made  a  promise  to  the  lass,"  said  he,  quite  simply,  "  one 
night  we  w^ere  in  Loch  Leven,  and  she  and  I  were  walking  on  the 
deck,  that  when  she  was  in  trouble  I  would  try  to  help  her;  and 
I  will  not  break  my  promise  through  any  fear  of  being  called  an 
intermeddler.  I  will  go  to  the  girl  myself — when  I  have  the  op- 
portunity ;  and  if  she  prefers  to  keep  her  own  counsel — if  she 
thinks  I  am  only  an  old  Scotch  fool,  who  should  be  minding  my 
own  business — I  will  not  grumble." 

And  again  he  was  going  away,  when  again  she  detained  him. 

"  I  hope  you  do  not  think  I  spoke  harshly  of  Mary,"  said  she, 
penitentially.  "  I  own  that  I  was  a  little  disappointed.  And 
it  seemed  so  certain.  But  I  am  sure  she  has  sufficient  reason 
for  whatever  she  has  done,  and  that  she  believes  she  is  acting 
rightly." 

"  Of  that  there  is  no  doubt,"  said  he,  promptly.  "  The  girl 
has  just  a  wonderful  clear  notion  of  doing  what  she  ought  to  do ; 
and  nothing  would  make  her  flinch."  Then  he  added,  after  a 
second,  "  But  I  will  think  over  it,  and  then  go  to  herself.  Per- 
haps she  feels  lonely,  and  does  not  know  that  there  is  a  home 
awaiting  her  at  Denny-mains." 

So  both  of  them  went  on  deck  again,  and  found  that  the 
White  Dove  was  already  sailing  away  from  the  Trossachs-like 
shores  of  Loch  Crinan,  and  getting  farther  out  into  this  squally 
green  sea.  There  were  bursts  of  sunlight  flying  across  the  rocks 
and  the  white-tipped  waves ;  but  ordinarily  the  sky  was  over- 
cast, masses  of  gray  and  silvery  cloud  coming  swinging  along 
from  the  north. 

Then  the  Laird  showed  himself  discreet  "  before  folk."  lie 
would  not   appear  to  have   any  designs  on  Mary  Avon's  confi- 


CERTAINTY.  281 

dences.  IIo  talked  in  a  loud  and  confident  fashion  to  John  of 
Skye  about  the  weather,  and  tlie  Doruis  Mohr,  and  Corrievre- 
chan.  Finally,  he  suggested,  in  a  facetious  way,  that  as  the  young- 
er men  had  occasionally  had  their  turn  at  the  helm,  he  might 
have  his  now,  for  the  first  time. 

"If  ye  please,  sir,"  said  Captain  John,  relinquishing  the  tiller 
to  him  with  a  smile  of  thanks,  and  going  forward  to  have  a  quiet 
pipe. 

But  the  Laird  seemed  a  little  bit  confused  by  the  rope  which 
John  had  confided  to  him.  In  a  light  breeze,  and  with  his  hand 
on  the  tiller,  he  might  have  done  very  well ;  but  this  looped  rope, 
to  which  he  had  to  cling  so  as  to  steady  himself,  seemed  puz- 
zling. And  almost  at  the  same  time  the  White  Dove  began  to 
creep  up  to  the  wind,  and  presently  the  sails  showed  an  ominous 
quiver. 

"  Keep  her  full,  sir,"  said  John  of  Skye,  turning  round. 

But  instead  of  that,  the  sails  flapped  more  and  more  ;  there 
was  a  rattling  of  blocks ;  two  men  came  tumbling  up  from  the 
forecastle,  thinking  the  yacht  was  being  put  about. 

"  Shove  your  hand  from  ye,  sir !"  called  out  the  skipper  to  the 
distressed  steersman ;  and  this  somewhat  infantine  direction  soon 
put  the  vessel  on  her  course  again. 

In  a  few  minutes  thereafter  John  of  Skye  put  his  pipe  in  his 
waistcoat  pocket. 

"  We'll  let  her  about  now%  sir,"  he  called  to  the  Laird. 

The  two  men  who  happened  to  be  on  deck  went  to  the  jib- 
sheets,  John  himself  leisurely  proceeding  to  stand  by  the  weather 
fore-sheet.  Then,  as  the  Laird  seemed  still  to  await  further  or- 
ders, he  called  out, 

"  Helm  hard  down,  sir,  if  ye  please !" 

But  this  rope  bothered  the  Laird.  lie  angrily  untwisted  it, 
let  it  drop  on  the  deck,  and  then  with  both  hands  endeavored  to 
jam  the  tiller  toward  the  weather  bulwarks,  which  were  certainly 
nearer  to  him  than  the  lee  bulwarks. 

"  The  other  way,  sir !"  Mary  Avon  cried  to  him,  anxiously. 

"  Bless  me  !  bless  me  !  Of  course  !"  he  cried,  in  return  ;  and 
then  he  let  the  tiller  go,  and  just  managed  to  get  out  of  its  way 
as  it  swung  to  leeward.  And  then  as  the  bow  sheered  round, 
and  the  White  Dove  made  away  for  the  mouth  of  Loch  Craig- 
nish  on  the  port  tack,  he  soon  discovered  the  use  of  the  weather 


282  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

tiller-rope,  for  the  wind  was  now  blowing  hard,  and  the  yacht 
pitching  a  good  deal. 

"  We  are  getting  on,  Miss  Mary  !"  he  cried  to  her,  crushing  his 
wide-awake  down  over  his  forehead.  "  Have  ye  not  got  a  bit 
song  for  us  ?  What  about  the  two  sailors  that  pitied  all  the 
poor  folk  in  London  ?" 

She  only  cast  down  her  eyes,  and  a  faint  color  suffused  her 
cheeks :  our  singing-bird  had  left  us. 

"  Howard,  lad !"  the  Laird  called  out  again,  in  his  facetious 
manner,  "ye  are  not  looking  Avell,  man.  Is  the  pitching  too 
much  for  you?" 

The  Youth  was  certainly  not  looking  very  brilliant,  but  he 
managed  to  conjure  up  a  ghastly  smile. 

"  If  I  get  ill,"  said  he,  "  I  will  blame  it  on  the  steering." 

"  'Deed  ye  will  not !"  said  the  Laird,  who  seemed  to  have  been 
satisfied  with  his  performances.  "  I  am  not  going  to  steer  this 
boat  through  the  Doruis  Mohr.  Here,  John,  come  back  to  your 
post !" 

John  of  Skye  came  promptly  aft;  in  no  case  would  he  have 
allowed  an  amateur  to  pilot  the  White  Dove  through  this  narrow 
strait  with  its  swirling  currents.  However,  when  the  proper  time 
came,  wc  got  through  the  Doruis  Mohr  very  easily,  there  being  a 
strong  flood-tide  to  help  ns ;  and  the  brief  respite  under  the  lee 
of  the  land  allowed  the  Youth  to  summon  back  his  color  and  his 
cheerfulness. 

The  Laird  had  ensconced  himself  beside  Mary  Avon  ;  he  had  a 
little  circle  of  admiring  listeners ;  he  was  telling  us,  amidst  great 
shouts  of  laughter,  how  Ilomesh  had  replied  to  one  tourist,  who 
had  asked  for  something  to  cat,  that  that  was  impossible,  "  bekass 
ahl  the  plate  was  cleaned  ;"  and  how  Ilomesh  had  answered  an- 
other tourist,  who  represented  that  the  towel  in  the  lavatory  was 
not  as  it  should  be,  that  "  more  than  fifty  or  sixty  people  was 
using  that  towel  this  very  day,  and  not  a  complaint  from  any  one 
of  them  ;"  and  how  Ilomesh,  when  his  assistant  stumbled  and 
threw  a  leg  of  mutton  on  to  the  deck,  called  out  to  him  in  his 
rage,  "  Ye  young  teffle,  I  will  knock  the  stairs  down  your  head !" 
Wc  were  more  and  more  delighted  with  Ilomesh  and  his  apocry- 
phal adventures. 

But  now  other  things  than  Ilomesh  were  claiming  our  atten- 
tion.     Once  through  the  Doruis,  we  found  the  wind  blowing 


CERTAINTY.  283 

harder  than  ever,  and  a  heavy  sea  running.  The  day  had  clear- 
ed, and  the  sun  was  gleamini*-  on  the  white  crests  of  the  waves ; 
but  the  air  was  thick  with  whirled  spray,  and  the  decks  were  run- 
ning wet.  The  White  Dove  listed  over  before  the  heavy  wind,  so 
that  her  scuppers  were  a  foot  deep  in  water ;  while  opening  the 
gangway  only  relieved  the  pressure  for  a  second  or  two ;  the  next 
moment  a  wave  would  surge  in  on  the  deck.  The  jib  and  fore 
staysail  were  soaked  half-mast  high.  When  we  were  on  the 
port  tack  the  keel  of  the  gig  ploughed  the  crests  of  those  massive 
and  rolling  waves.  This  would,  indeed,  have  been  a  day  for  An- 
gus Sutherland. 

On  one  tack  we  ran  right  over  to  Corrievrechan  ;  but  we  could 
see  no  water-spouts  or  other  symptoms  of  the  whirling  currents ; 
we  could  only  hear  the  low  roar  all  along  the  Scarba  coast,  and 
watch  the  darting  of  the  white  foam  up  the  face  of  the  rocks. 
And  then  away  again  on  the  port  tack ;  with  the  women  clinging 
desperately  to  the  weather  bulwarks,  lest  perchance  they  should 
swiftly  glide  down  the  gleaming  decks  into  the  hissing  water  that 
rolled  along  the  lee  scuppers.  Despite  the  fact  of  their  being 
clad  from  top  to  toe  in  water-proofs,  their  faces  were  streaming 
with  the  salt-water ;  but  they  were  w  arm  enough,  for  the  sun  was 
blazing  hot,  and  the  showers  of  spray  were  like  showers  of  gleam- 
ing diamonds. 

Luncheon  was  of  an  extremely  pantomimic  character ;  until,  in 
the  midst  of  it,  we  were  alarmed  by  hearing  quick  tramping  over- 
head, and  noise  and  shouting.  The  Youth  was  hastily  bidden  to 
leave  his  pickle-jars,  and  go  on  deck  to  see  what  was  happening. 
In  a  second  or  two  he  returned,  somewhat  grueful — his  hair  wild, 
his  face  W'Ct. 

"  They  are  only  taking  in  the  mizzen,"  says  he  ;  "  but  my  cap 
has  been  knocked  overboard,  and  I  have  got  about  a  quart  of  wa- 
ter down  my  neck." 

"  It  will  do  ye  good,  lad,"  observed  the  Laird,  in  the  most 
heartless  manner ;  "  and  I  will  now  trouble  ye  to  pass  me  the 
marmalade." 

Patiently,  all  day  long,  we  beat  up  against  that  inexorable  north 
wind,  until,  in  the  afternoon,  it  veered  a  point  or  two  to  the  east, 
which  made  an  appreciable  difference  in  our  rate  of  progress. 
Then,  the  farther  the  wind  veered,  the  more  it  became  a  land- 
wind  ;  and  the  sea  abated  considerably ;  so  that  long  before  we 


2S4  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

could  mate  out  Castle  Osprey  on  tlie  face  of  the  hill,  we  were  in 
fairly  calm  waters,  with  a  light  breeze  on  our  starboard  beam. 
The  hot  sun  had  dried  the  decks ;  there  was  a  possibility  of  walk- 
ing ;  some  went  below  to  prepare  for  going  ashore. 

We  were  returning  to  the  world  of  telegrams,  and  letters,  and 
newspapers ;  we  should  soon  know  what  the  Commissioners  of 
Strathgovan  were  doing,  and  whether  Johnny  Guthrie  had  been 
fomenting  sedition.  But  it  was  not  these  things  that  troubled 
the  Laird.  He  had  been  somewhat  meditative  during  the  after- 
noon. At  last,  finding  an  occasion  on  which  nearly  everybody 
was  below  but  his  hostess,  he  said  to  her,  in  a  low  voice, 

"  The  more  I  reflect  on  that  matter  we  spoke  of  this  morning, 
the  more  I  am  driven  to  a  conclusion  that  I  would  fain  avoid. 
It  would  be  a  sad  blow  to  me.  I  have  built  much  on  the  scheme 
I  was  telling  ye  of :  perhaps  it  was  but  a  toy ;  but  old  people 
have  a  fondness  for  their  toys  as  well  as  young  people." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  you,  sir,"  said  the  other. 

*'  We  will  soon  learn  whether  I  am  rights"  said  the  old  Laird, 
with  a  sigh  ;  and  then  he  turned  to  her  and  regarded  her. 

"  I  doubt  whether  ye  see  this  girl's  character  as  clearly  as  I 
do,"  said  he.  "  Gentle,  and  soft,  and  delicate  as  she  seems  to  be, 
she  is  of  the  stuff  the  martyrs  in  former  days  were  made  of :  if 
she  believes  a  thing  to  be  right,  she  will  do  it  at  any  cost  or  sac- 
rifice. Do  ye  mind  the  first  evening  I  met  her  at  your  house — 
how  she  sat  and  talked  and  laughed,  with  her  sprained  ankle 
swollen  and  black  all  the  time,  just  that  she  might  not  interfere 
with  the  pleasure  of  others  ?" 

The  Laird  paused  for  a  moment  or  two. 

"  I  have  been  putting  things  together,"  he  continued — but  he 
did  not  seem  proud  or  boastful  of  his  perspicacity :  perhaps  he 
would  rather  have  fought  against  the  conclusion  forced  on  him. 
*'  When  she  was  up  in  the  North,  it  seemed  to  you  as  if  she 
would  have  married  the  young  man  Sutherland  ?" 

"  Most  undoubtedly." 

"  The  lass  had  her  bit  fortune  then,"  said  the  Laird,  thought- 
fully. "Not  much,  as  yc  say;  but  it  would  have  been  an  inde- 
pendence. It  would  have  helped  him  on  in  the  world;  it  would 
have  left  him  free.  And  she  is  proud  of  what  he  has  done,  and 
as  ambcctious  as  liimsclf  that  he  should  become  a  great  man. 
Ay." 


CERTAINTY.  285 

The  Laird  seemed  very  anxious  about  the  varnishing  of  the 
gig :  he  kept  smoothing  it  ^vith  his  forefinger. 

"And  when  he  came  to  her  the  other  day — it  is  but  a  guess  of 
mine,  ma'am — she  may  have  said  to  herself  beforehand  that  she 
would  not  be  a  drag  on  him ;  that  she  would  leave  him  free  to  be- 
come great  and  famous ;  that  the  sentiment  of  the  moment  was 
a  trifling  thing  compared  to  what  the  world  expected  from  Dr. 
Sutherland.  Ye  will  not  forget  what  she  said  on  that  point  only 
the  other  day.  And  she  may  have  sent  him  away — with  her  own 
heart  just  like  to  break.  I  have  just  been  putting  one  or  two 
possibeelities  together,  ma'am — " 

The  color  had  forsaken  the  cheeks  of  the  woman  who  stood  by 
his  side. 

"And — and — if  she  was  so  cruel — and — and  heartless — and — 
and  monstrous — she  ought  to  be  horsewhipped !"  she  exclaimed, 
quite  breathlessly,  and  apparently  not  knowing  what  she  was 
saying. 

But  the  Laird  shook  his  head. 

"  Poor  lass !  poor  lass !"  he  said,  gently ;  "  she  has  had  her 
troubles.  No  doubt  the  loss  of  her  bit  fortune  seemed  a  desper- 
ate thing  to  her ;  and  you  know  her  first  anxiety  is  conteenually 
for  other  people — particularly  them  that  have  been  kind  to  her — 
and  that  she  thinks  no  more  of  herself  than  if  she  had  no  feelings 
at  all.  Well,  ma'am,  if  what  I  am  guessing  at  is  true — it  is  only 
a  speculation  o'  mine,  and  I  am  far  from  sure ;  but  if  that  is  all 
that  has  to  be  put  right,  I'm  thinking  it  might  be  put  right. 
We  should  thank  God  that  we  are  now  and  again  able  to  put 
some  small  matter  straight  in  the  world." 

The  Laird  was  more  busy  than  ever  with  the  varnish,  and  he 
went  nearer  the  boat.  His  fingers  were  nervous,  and  there  was  a 
strange,  sad  look  in  the  sunken  gray  eyes. 

"  Poor  lass !  if  that  is  all  her  trouble,  it  might  not  be  difficult 
to  help  her,"  said  he  ;  and  then  he  added,  slowly — and  the  woman 
beside  him  knew,  rather  than  saw,  that  the  sad  gray  eyes  were 
somehow  wet :  "  But  I  had  thought  to  see  her  living  at  Denny- 
mains.     It  was — it  was  a  sort  of  toy  of  my  old  age." 


286  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

A    PARABLE. 

Now  we  had  not  been  five  minutes  within  the  walls  of  Castle 
Osprey  when  great  shouts  of  laughter  were  heard  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  library ;  and  presently  the  Laird  came  quickly  into 
the  room  where  the  two  women  were  standing  at  the  open  win- 
dow. He  was  flourishing  a  newspaper  in  his  hand ;  delight,  sar- 
casm, and  desperate  humor  shone  in  his  face.  He  would  not  no- 
tice that  Queen  Titania  looked  very  much  inclined  to  cry,  as  she 
gazed  out  on  the  forlorn  remains  of  what  had  once  been  a  rose- 
garden  ;  he  would  pay  no  heed  to  Mary  Avon's  wan  cheek  and 
pensive  eyes. 

"Just  listen  to  this,  ma'am — just  listen  to  this!"  he  called  out, 
briskly ;  and  all  the  atmosphere  of  the  room  seemed  to  wake  up 
into  cheerfulness  and  life.  "  Have  I  not  told  ye  often  about  that 
extraordinary  body,  Johnny  Guthrie  ?     Now  just  listen." 

It  appeared  that  the  Laird,  without  even  bestowing  a  glance 
on  the  pile  of  letters  lying  waiting  for  him,  had  at  once  dived 
into  the  mass  of  newspapers,  and  had  succeeded  in  fishing  out 
the  report  of  the  last  meeting  of  the  Strathgovan  Police  Com- 
missioners. With  a  solemnity  that  scarcely  veiled  his  suppressed 
mirth,  he  said, 

"Just  listen,  ma'am  :  'The  fortnightly  meeting  of  the  Strath- 
govan Police  Commissioners  was  held  on  Monday,  Provost  Mc- 
Kendrick  in  the  chair.  Mr.  Robert  Johnstone  said  he  had  much 
pleasure  in  congratulating  the  chairman  and  the  other  gentle- 
men assembled  on  the  signal  and  able  manner  in  which  the  fire- 
brigade  had  done  their  duty  on  the  previous  Saturday  at  the  great 
conflagration  in  Coulter-side  buildings;  and  he  referred  especial- 
ly to  the  immense  assistance  given  by  the  new  fire-engine  recent- 
ly purchased  by  the  Commissioners.  (Hear!  hear!)  He  could 
assure  tlie  meeting  that  but  for  the  zealous  and  patriotic  ardor 
of  the  brigade — aided,  no  doubt,  by  the  eflicient  working  of  the 
steam-engine — a  most  valuable  property  wuuld  have  been  devoted 
holus  bolus  to  the  flames.' " 


A    PAllABLE.  287 

The  Laird  frowned  at  this  phrase. 

"Docs  the  crayture  think  he  is  talking  Latin  ?"  he  asked,  ap- 
parently of  himself. 

Ilowever,  he  continned  his  reading  of  the  report : 

" '  Provost  McKendrick,  replying  to  these  observations,  ob- 
served that  it  was  certainly  a  matter  for  congratulation  that  the 
fire-brigade  should  have  proved  their  efficiency  in  so  distinct  a 
manner,  considering  the  outlay  that  had  been  incurred ;  and  that 
now  the  inhabitants  of  the  Burgh  would  perceive  the  necessity 
of  having  more  plugs.  So  far  all  the  money  had  been  well  spent. 
Mr.  J.  Guthrie — ' "  But  here  the  Laird  could  not  contain  his 
laughter  any  longer. 

"  That's  Johnny,  ma'am,"  he  cried,  in  explanation  ;  "  that's  the 
Johnny  Guthrie  I  was  telling  ye  about  —  the  poor,  yaumering, 
pernickity,  querulous  crayture  !  '  Mr.  J.  Guthrie  begged  to  say 
he  could  not  join  in  these  general  felicitations.  They  were  mak- 
ing a  great  deal  of  noise  about  nothing.  The  fire  was  no  fire  at 
all ;  a  servant-girl  could  have  put  it  out  with  a  pail.  He  had 
come  from  Glasgow  by  the  eleven  o'clock  'bus,  and  there  was 
then  not  a  trace  of  a  fire  to  be  seen.  The  real  damage  done 
to  the  property  was  not  done  by  the  fire,  but  by  the  dirty  water 
drawn  by  the  fire-brigade  from  the  Coulter  burn,  which  dirty  water 
had  entirely  destroyed  Mrs.  MacLines's  best  bedroom  furniture.'  " 

The  Laird  flourished  the  newspaper,  and  laughed  aloud  in  his 
joy — the  mere  reading  of  the  extract  had  so  thoroughly  discom- 
fited his  enemy. 

"Did  ye  ever  hear  the  like  o'  that  body  ?"  he  cried.  "A  snarl- 
in',  quarlin',  gruntin',  growlin',  fashions  crayture !  He  thinks  there 
could  not  be  any  fire,  just  because  he  was  not  in  time  to  see  it. 
Oh,  Johnny,  Johnny,  Johnny,  I'm  just  fair  ashamed  o'  ye  !" 

But  at  this  point  the  Laird  seemed  to  become  aware  that  he 
had  given  way  too  much  to  his  love  of  pure  and  pithy  English. 
He  immediately  said,  in  a  more  formal  manner, 

"  I  am  glad  to  perceive,  ma'am,  that  the  meeting  paid  no  heed 
to  these  strictures,  but  went  on  to  consider  whether  the  insurance 
companies  should  not  share  the  expense  of  maintaining  the  fire- 
brigade.  That  was  most  proper — most  judeecious.  I'm  think- 
ing that  after  dinner  I  could  not  do  better  than  express  my  views 
upon  that  subject,  in  a  letter  addressed  to  the  Provost.  It  would 
be  in  time  to  be  read  at  the  monthly  sederunt." 


288  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

"  Come  along,  then,  Mary,  and  let  us  get  through  our  letters," 
said  his  hostess,  turning  away  with  a  sigh  from  the  dilapidated 
rose-garden. 

As  she  passed  the  piano  she  opened  it. 

"  How  strange  it  will  sound  !"  she  said. 

She  played  a  few  bars  of  Mary  Avon's  favorite  song :  somehow 
the  chords  seemed  singularly  rich  and  full  and  beautiful  after 
our  long  listening  to  the  monotonous  rush  of  the  sea.  Then  she 
put  her  hand  within  the  girl's  arm  and  gently  led  her  away,  and 
said  to  her,  as  they  passed  through  the  hall, 

"  '  Oh,  little  did  my  mither  think, 
When  first  she  cradled  me,' 

that  ever  I  should  have  come  back  to  such  a  picture  of  desola- 
tion. But  we  must  put  a  brave  face  on  it.  If  the  autumn  kills 
the  garden,  it  glorifies  the  hills.  You  will  want  all  your  color- 
tubes  when  we  show  you  Loch  Hourn." 

"  That  was  the  place  the  doctor  was  anxious  to  vcesit,"  said 
the  Laird,  who  was  immediately  behind  them.  "Ay.  Oh  yes, 
we  will  show  Miss  Mary  Loch  llourn ;  she  will  get  some  material 
for  sketches  there,  depend  on't.  Just  the  finest  loch  in  the  whole 
of  the  Uighlands.  When  I  can  get  Tom  Galbraith  first  of  all 
persuaded  to  see  Bunessan — " 

But  we  heard  no  more  about  Tom  Galbraith.  Queen  Titania 
had  uttered  a  slight  exclamation  as  she  glanced  over  the  addresses 
of  the  letters  directed  to  her. 

"From  Angus!"  she  said,  as  she  hurriedly  opened  one  of  the 
envelopes,  and  ran  lier  eye  over  the  contents. 

Then  her  face  grew  grave,  and  inadvertently  she  turned  to  the 
Laird. 

"  In  three  days,"  she  said,  "  he  was  to  start  for  Italy." 

She  looked  at  the  date. 

"He  must  have  left  London  already,"  said  she;  and  then  she 
examined  the  letter  further.  "And  he  does  not  say  where  he  is 
going." 

The  Laird  looked  grave  too — for  a  second.  T^ut  he  was  an  ex- 
cellent actor.  lie  began  whistling  tlie  air  that  his  hostess  had 
been  playing.  He  turned  over  his  letters  and  papers  carelessly. 
At  length  he  said,  with  an  air  of  fine  indifference, 

"  The  grand  thing  of  being  away  at  sea  is  to  teach  ye  the  com- 


A    PARABLE.  289 

parateevely  trifling  importance  of  an3'thing  tliat  can  happen  on 
land." 

lie  tossed  the  unopened  letters  about,  only  regarding  the  ad- 
dresses. 

"  What  care  I  what  the  people  may  have  been  saying  about 
me  in  my  absence  ? — the  real  thing  is  that  we  got  food  to  eat, 
and  were  not  swept  into  Corrievrechan.  Come,  Miss  Mary,  I  will 
just  ask  ye  to  go  for  a  stroll  through  the  garden  wi'  me  until 
dinner-time ;  our  good  friends  will  not  ask  us  to  dress  on  an  even- 
ing like  this,  just  before  we  have  got  everything  on  shore.  Twen- 
ty-five meenutcs,  ma'am  ?  Very  well.  If  anybody  has  been  abus- 
ing me  in  my  absence,  we'll  listen  to  the  poor  fellow  after  dinner, 
when  we  can  get  the  laugh  made  general,  and  so  make  some  good 
out  of  him ;  but  just  now  we'll  have  the  quiet  of  the  sunset  to 
ourselves.  Dear,  dear  me  !  we  used  to  have  the  sunset  after  din- 
ner when  we  were  away  up  about  Canna  and  Uist." 

Mary  Avon  seemed  to  hesitate. 

"What!  not  a  single  letter  for  ye?  That  shows  very  bad 
taste  on  the  pairt  of  the  young  men  about  England.  But  I 
never  thought  much  o'  them.  From  what  I  hear,  they  are  mostly 
given  over  to  riding  horses,  and  shooting  pheasants,  and  what  not. 
But  never  mind.  I  want  ye  to  come  out  for  a  stroll  wi'  me,  my 
lass;  ye'U  see  some  fine  color  about  the  Morven  hills  presently, 
or  I'm  mistaken." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  said  she,  obediently  ;  and  together  they  went 
out  into  the  garden. 

Now  it  was  not  until  some  minutes  after  the  dinner-gong  had 
sounded  that  we  again  saw  these  two,  and  then  there  was  nothing 
in  the  manner  of  either  of  them  to  suggest  to  any  one  that  any- 
thing had  happened.  It  was  not  until  many  days  afterward  that 
we  obtained,  bit  by  bit,  an  account  of  what  had  occurred,  and  even 
then  it  was  but  a  stammering  and  disjointed  and  shy  account. 
However,  such  as  it  was,  it  had  better  appear  here,  if  only  to  keep 
the  narrative  straight. 

The  Laird,  walking  up  and  down  the  gravol-path  with  his  com- 
panion, said  that  he  did  not  so  much  regret  the  disapi)earance  of 
the  roses,  for  there  were  plenty  of  other  flowers  to  take  their 
place.  Then  he  thought  he  and  she  might  go  and  sit  on  a  seat 
which  was  placed  under  a  drooping  ash  in  the  centre  of  the 
lawn,  for  from  this  point  they  commanded  a  fine  view  of  the 

14 


290  WHITE  WINGS :    a  yachting  romance. 

western  seas  and  liills.  They  had  just  sat  down  there  when  he 
said, 

"  My  girl,  I  am  going  to  take  the  privik^ge  of  an  old  man,  and 
speak  frankly  to  ye.  I  have  been  watching  ye,  as  it  were — and 
yonr  mind  is  not  at  ease." 

Miss  Avon  hastily  assured  him  that  it  was  quite,  and  begged  to 
draw  his  attention  to  the  yacht  in  the  bay,  where  the  men  were 
just  lowering  the  ensign,  at  sunset. 

The  Laird  returned  to  the  subject ;  entreated  her  not  to  take 
it  ill  that  he  should  interfere ;  and  then  reminded  her  of  a  cer- 
tain night  on  Loch  Leven,  and  of  a  promise  he  had  then  made 
her.  AVould  he  be  fulfilling  that  solemn  undertaking  if  he  did 
not,  at  some  risk  of  vexing  her,  and  of  being  considered  a  prying, 
foolish  person,  endeavor  to  help  her  if  she  was  in  trouble  ? 

Miss  Avon  said  how  grateful  she  was  to  him  for  all  his  kind- 
ness to  her,  and  how  his  promise  had  already  been  amply  fulfill- 
ed. She  was  not  in  trouble.  She  hoped  no  one  thought  that. 
Everything  that  had  happened  was  for  the  best.  And  here — as 
was  afterward  admitted — she  burst  into  a  fit  of  crj  ing,  and  was 
very  much  mortified  and  ashamed  of  herself. 

But  at  this  point  the  Laird  would  appear  to  have  taken  mat- 
ters into  his  own  hand.  First  of  all  he  began  to  speak  of  his 
nephew — of  his  bright  good-nature,  and  so  forth — of  his  professed 
esteem  for  her — of  certain  possibilities  that  he,  the  Laird,  had  been 
dreaming  about  with  the  fond  fancy  of  an  old  man.  And  rath- 
er timidly  he  asked  her  if  ft  were  true  that  she  thought  every- 
thing had  happened  for  the  best — whether,  after  all,  his  nephew 
Howard  might  not  speak  to  her?  It  had  been  the  dream  of 
his  old  age  to  see  these  two  together  at  Denny-mains,  or  on  board 
that  steam-yacht  lie  would  buy  for  them  on  the  Clyde.  Was 
that  not  possible  ? 

Here,  at  least,  the  girl  was  honest  and  earnest  enough — even 
anxiously  earnest.  She  assured  him  that  that  was  quite  impossi- 
ble— it  was  hopeless.  The  Laird  remained  silent  for  some  min- 
utes, holding  her  hand. 

"Then,"  said  he,  rather  sadly,  l)ut  with  an  afEectation  of  grave 
humor,  "  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  story.  It  is  about  a  young 
lass  who  was  very  proud,  and  who  kc])t  her  thoughts  very  much 
to  herself,  and  would  not  give  her  friends  a  chance  of  helping 
her.     And  she  was  very  fond  of — a  young  Prince,  we  will  call 


A    PARABLE.  291 

liiin — who  wanted  to  go  away  to  the  wars,  and  make  a  great 
name  for  himself.  No  one  was  prouder  of  the  Prince  than  the 
girl,  mind  ye,  and  she  encouraged  him  in  everything,  and  they 
were  great  friends,  and  slic  was  to  give  him  all  her  diamonds,  and 
pearls,  and  necklaces — she  would  throw  them  into  his  treasury, 
like  a  Roman  matron — just  that  he  might  go  away  and  conquer, 
and  come  back  and  marry  her.  But  lo,  and  behold !  one  night 
all  her  jewels  and  bracelets  were  stolen  !  Then  what  does  she 
do?  Would  ye  believe  it?  she  goes  and  quarrels  with  that 
young  Prince,  and  tells  him  to  go  away  and  fight  his  battles  for 
himself,  and  never  to  come  back  and  see  her  any  more — just  as 
if  any  one  could  fight  a  battle  wi'  a  sore  heai't.  Oh,  she  was  a 
wicked,  wicked  lass,  to  be  so  proud  as  that,  when  she  had  many 
friends  that  would  willingly  have  helped  her!  .  .  .  Sit  down,  my 
girl — sit  down,  my  girl ;  never  mind  the  dinner ;  they  can  wait 
for  us.  .  .  .  Well,  ye  see,  the  story  goes  on  that  there  was  an  old 
man — a  foolish  old  man — they  used  to  laugh  at  him  because  of 
his  fine  fishing-tackle,  and  the  very  few  fish  he  caught  wi'  the 
tackle — and  this  doited  old  body  was  always  intermeddling  in 
other  people's  business.  And  what  do  you  think  he  does  but  go 
&nd  say  to  the  young  lass, '  Ha !  have  I  found  ye  out  ?  Is  it  left 
for  an  old  man  like  me — and  me  a  bachelor,  too,  who  should 
know  but  little  of  the  quips  and  cranks  of  a  young  lass's  ways — 
is  it  left  for  an  old  man  like  me  to  find  out  that  fine  secret  o' 
yours  V  She  could  not  say  a  word.  She  was  dumfounded.  She 
had  not  the  face  to  deny  it.  He  ^ad  found  out  what  that  wicked 
girl,  with  all  her  pride,  and  her  martyrdom,  and  her  sprained 
ankles,  had  been  about.  And  what  do  you  think  he  did  then  ? 
Why,  as  sure  as  sure  can  be,  he  had  got  all  the  young  lass's  prop- 
erty in  his  pocket ;  and  before  she  could  say  Jack  Robinson,  he 
tells  her  that  he  is  going  to  send  straight  off  for  the  Prince — 
this  very  night — a  telegram  to  London — " 

The  girl  had  been  trembling,  and  struggling  with  the  hand  that 
held  hers.     At  last  she  sprung  to  her  feet,  with  a  cry  of  entreaty  : 

"  Oh  no,  no,  no,  sir !  You  will  not  do  that !  You  will  not 
degrade  me  1" 

And  then — this  is  her  own  account,  mind — the  Laird  rose  too, 
and  still  held  her  by  the  hand,  and  spoke  sternly  to  her. 

"Degrade  you?"  said  he.  "Foolish  lass!  Come  in  to  your 
dinner." 


292  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

When  these  two  did  come  in  to  dinner — nearly  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  late — their  hostess  looked  anxiously  from  one  to  the 
other ;  but  what  could  she  perceive  ?  Mary  Avon  was  some- 
what pale,  and  she  was  silent ;  but  that  had  been  her  way  of  late. 
As  for  the  Laird,  he  came  in  whistling  the  tune  of  the  Queen's 
Maries,  which  was  a  strange  grace  before  meat,  and  he  looked  air- 
ily around  him  at  the  walls. 

"I  would  just  like  to  know,"  said  he,  lightly,  "  whether  there 
is  a  single  house  in  all  Scotland  where  ye  will  not  find  an  en- 
graving of  one  or  other  of  Mr.  Thomas  Faed's  pictures  in  some 
one  of  the  rooms  ?" 

And  he  preserved  this  careless  and  indifferent  demeanor  dur- 
ing dinner.  After  dinner  he  strolled  into  the  library.  He  would 
venture  upon  a  small  cigar.  His  sole  companion  was  the  per- 
son whose  humble  duty  in  this  household  is  to  look  after 
financial  matters,  so  that  other  folks  may  enjoy  themselves  in 
idleness. 

The  Laird  lay  back  in  an  easy-chair,  stretched  out  his  legs,  lit 
his  cigar,  and  held  it  at  ai-m's-length,  as  if  it  were  something  that 
ought  to  be  looked  at  at  a  distance. 

"You  had  something  to  do  with  the  purchase  of  Miss  Mary's 
American  stock,  eh  ?"  said  he,  pretending  to  be  concerned  about 
the  end  of  the  cigar. 

"  Yes." 

"What  was  it?" 

"  Funded  Five  per  Cent."      ' 

"What  would  be  about  the  value  of  it  now?" 

"Just  now  ?     Oh,  perhaps  lOG  or  107." 

"  No,  no,  no  !  I  mean,  if  the  bonds  that  that  ill-faured  scoon- 
drel  carried  away  with  him  were  to  be  sold  the  now,  what  money, 
what  English  money,  would  they  fetch  ?" 

]>ut  this  required  some  calculation. 

"Probably  about  £7800." 

"  I  was  asking,"  said  the  Laird,  "  because  I  was  wondering 
whether  there  was  any  chance  of  tracing  them." 

"Not  the  least.  They  are  like  bank-notes  —  more  useful,  in- 
deed, to  a  swindler  than  even  bank-notes." 

"  Ay,  is  that  so  ?"  said  the  Laird ;  and  he  seemed  to  be  so 
charmed  with  his  whistling  of  the  air  of  tlic  Qaeen's  Maries  that 
he  returned  to  that  performance.     Oddly  enough,  liowevcr,  he 


A    RELEASE.  293 

never  ventured  beyond  tlie  first  line :  perhaps  he  was  afraid  of 
missing  the  tune. 

"  Seven  thousand  three  hundred,"  said  he,  meditatively.  "  Man, 
that's  a  strong  cigar — little,  and  black,  and  strong,  like  a  llie- 
lander.  Seven  thousand  tbree  hundred.  Girls  are  strange  crayt- 
nres.  I  remember  what  that  young  doctor  was  saying  once  about 
weemen  being  better  able  to  bear  pain  than  men,  and  not  so  much 
afraid  of  it  either — " 

And  here  the  Queen's  Maries  came  in  again. 

"  It  would  be  a  strange  thing,"  said  the  Laird,  with  a  sort  of 
rueful  laugh,  "  if  I  were  to  have  a  steam-yacht  all  to  myself,  and 
cruise  about  in  search  of  companj',  eh  ?  No,  no ;  that  will  not 
do.  My  neighbors  in  Strathgovan  will  never  say  that  I  deserted 
them,  just  when  great  improvements  and  serious  work  have  to  be 
looked  forward  to.  I  will  not  have  it  said  that  I  ran  away  just 
to  pleasure  myself.  Howard,  my  lad,  I  doubt  but  ye'll  have  to 
whistle  for  that  steam-yacht." 

The  Laird  rose. 

"  I  think  I  will  smoke  in  the  garden  now  :  it  is  a  fine  even- 
ing." 

He  turned  at  the  door,  and  seemed  suddenl}'  to  perceive  a  pair 
of  stag's  horns  over  the  chimney-piece. 

"  That's  a  grand  set  o'  horns,"  said  he ;  and  then  he  added, 
carelessly,  "What  bank  did  ye  say  they  American  bonds  were 
in  ?" 

"  The  London  and  Westminster." 

"  They're  just  a  noble  pair  o'  horns,"  said  he,  emphatically. 
"  I  wonder  ye  do  not  take  them  with  ye  to  London."  And  then 
he  left. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

A    RELEASE. 


We  had  a  long  spell  ashore  at  this  time,  for  we  were  meditat- 
ing a  protracted  voyage,  and  everything  had  to  be  left  ship-shape 
behind  us.  The  Laird  was  busy  from  morning  till  night ;  but  it 
would  appear  that  all  his  attention  was  not  wholly  given  to  the 
aifairs  of  Strathgovan.     Occasionally  he  surprised  his  hostess  by 


294  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

questions  which  had  not  the  least  reference  to  asphalt  pave- 
ments or  gymnasium  chains.  He  kept  his  own  counsel,  never- 
theless. 

By-and-by  his  mysterious  silence  so  piqued  and  provoked  her 
that  she  seized  a  favorable  opportunity  for  asking  him  point- 
blank  whether  he  had  not  spoken  to  Mary  Avon.  They  were  in 
the  garden  at  the  time ;  he  seated  on  an  iron  scat,  with  a  bundle 
of  papers  beside  him,  she  standing  on  the  gravel-path,  with  some 
freshly-cut  flowers  in  her  hand.  There  was  a  little  color  in  her 
face,  for  she  feared  that  the  question  might  be  deemed  imperti- 
nent ;  yet,  after  all,  it  was  no  idle  curiosity  that  prompted  her  to 
ask  it.  Was  she  not  as  much  interested  in  the  girl's  happiness 
as  any  one  could  be  ? 

"  I  have,"  said  he,  looking  up  at  her  calmly. 

Well,  she  knew  that.     Was  this  all  the  answer  she  was  to  get  ? 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,"  said  he,  after  a  second,  "if  I 
seem  to  be  making  a  mystery  where  there  is  no  mystery.  I 
hate  all  foolishness  like  that.  I  do  not  myself  believe  there  is 
anything  of  tbe  kind  ;  but  I  will  just  ask  ye  to  wait  for  a  day  or 
two  before  speaking  to  the  lass  herself.  After  that,  1  will  leave 
it  all  in  your  hands.  I  trust  ye  will  consider  that  I  have  done 
my  part." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  of  that,  sir,"  said  she ;  though  how  could  she 
bo  sure  ? 

"  There  is  not  much  I  would  not  do  for  that  lass,"  said  he, 
somewhat  absently.  "  She  has  a  wonderful  way  of  getting  a 
grip  of  one's  heart,  as  it  were.  And  if  I  could  have  wished 
that  things  had  turned  out  otherwise — " 

The  Laird  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  He  seemed  to  rouse 
himself. 

"  Toots  !  toots  !"  said  he,  frowning.  "  When  we  are  become 
men,  we  have  to  put  away  childish  things.  Wliat  is  the  use  of 
crying  for  the  moon  ?  There,  ma'am,  is  something  serious  and 
practical  to  consider — something  better  worth  considering  than 
childish  dreams  and  fancies." 

And  then,  with  much  lucidity,  and  with  a  most  dispassionate 
parade  of  arguments  on  both  sides,  he  put  before  her  this  knotty 
question :  Whether  it  was  a  fit  and  proper  thing  for  a  body  like 
the  Strathgovan  Commissioners  to  own  public-house  property? 
That   was  the   general    question.     The  immediate  question  was 


A    RELEASE.  295 

wlicther  tlic  "William  Wallace"  public -house,  situated  in  the 
Nethcrbiggins  road,  should  be  relet  or  summarily  closed.  On 
the  one  hand,  it  was  contended  that  the  closing  of  the  "  Wil- 
liam AVallace"  would  only  produce  a  greater  run  on  the  other 
licensed  houses;  on  the  other  hand,  it  was  urged  that  a  body 
like  the  Commissioners  should  set  an  example,  and  refuse  to  en- 
courage a  mischievous  traffic.  Now  the  Laird's  own  view  of  the 
liquor  question — which  he  always  put  forward  modestly,  as  sub- 
ject to  the  opinion  of  those  who  had  had  a  wider  legislative  and 
administrative  experience  than  himself — was  that  the  total  sup- 
pression of  the  liquor  traffic  was  a  chimera,  and  that  a  practical 
man  should  turn  to  see  what  could  be  done  in  the  way  of  strin- 
gent police  regulations.  He  was  proceeding  to  expound  these 
points,  when  he  suddenly  caught  sight  of  the  Youth,  who  had 
appeared  at  the  gate  with  two  long  fishing-rods  over  his  shoul- 
der.    He  dropped  his  voice. 

"That  just  reminds  me,  ma'am,"  said  he.  "I  am  greatly 
obliged  to  ye — my  nephew  equally  so — for  your  great  kindness 
to  him.  I  think  it  will  not  be  necessary  for  him  to  trespass  on 
your  forbearance  any  longer," 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  you." 

"I  think  I  will  let  him  go  back  to  his  own  pursuits  now,"  said 
the  Laird. 

"Oh  no,"  she  said.  "By  all  means  let  him  come  with  us  to 
Stornoway.  He  has  been  very  good  in  not  grumbling  over  any 
inconvenience.  You  would  not  send  him  away  just  as  we  are 
going  to  start  on  our  longest  cruise  ?" 

She  could  not  say  anything  further  at  the  moment,  for  the 
Youth  came  up  the  gravel -path,  and  threw  the  two  huge  rods 
on  to  the  lawn. 

"  Look  there,  uncle !"  he  cried.  "  I  don't  care  what  size  of 
lithe  you  get  on  the  line,  I'll  bet  those  rods  won't  break,  anyway. 
Sutherland  used  to  be  lamenting  over  the  big  fish  you  lost  up  in 
the  North  ;  try  them  with  those  things." 

Here  their  hostess  passed  on  and  into  the  house  with  her  flow- 
ers.    Uncle  and  nephew  were  left  by  themselves. 

"  Howard,  lad,"  said  the  elder  of  the  two  men,  "  bring  that 
chair  over,  and  sit  opposite  me.  I  do  not  want  my  papers  to  be 
disturbed.  There  are  one  or  two  matters  of  business  I  would 
like  to  put  before  ye." 


296  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

Tlie  Youth  did  as  he  was  bid.  The  Laird  paused  for  a  second 
or  two,  then  he  began  : 

"  When  I  asked  yc  to  come  to  the  Highlands,"  said  he,  slow- 
ly, "  I  put  an  alternative  before  ye,  with  certain  consequences. 
There  were  two  things,  one  of  which  I  wanted  ye  to  do.  Ye 
have  done  neither." 

Howard  Smith  looked  somewhat  alarmed :  his  hostess  was  not 
there  to  put  a  jocular  air  over  that  bargain. 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  stammered,  "  I — I  could  not  do  what  was  im- 
possible.    I — have  done  my  best." 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  the  Laird,  in  a  matter-of-fact  way,  "  nei- 
ther has  been  done.  I  will  not  say  it  has  been  altogether  your 
fault.  So  far  as  I  have  seen,  ye  have  been  on  very  good  terms 
with  the  young  leddy ;  and — and — yes,  paid  her  what  attention 
was  expected  of  ye ;  and — " 

"  Well,  you  see,  uncle,"  he  interposed,  eagerly,  "  what  was  the 
use  of  my  proposing  to  the  girl  only  to  be  snubbed?  Don't  I 
know  she  cares  no  more  about  me  than  about  the  man  in  the 
moon  ?  Why,  anybody  could  see  that.  Of  course,  you  know,  if 
you  insist  on  it — if  you  drive  me  to  it — if  you  want  me  to  go  in 
and  get  snubbed — I'll  do  it.  I'll  take  ray  chance.  But  I  don't 
think  it's  fair.  I  mean,"  he  added,  hastily,  "  I  don't  think  it  is 
necessary." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  drive  ye  to  anything,"  said  the  Laird — on 
any  other  occasion  he  might  have  laughed  at  the  Youth's  ingen- 
uousness, but  now  he  had  serious  business  on  hand.  "  I  am  con- 
tent to  take  things  as  they  are.  Neither  of  the  objects  I  had  in 
view  has  been  accomplished ;  perhaps  both  were  impossible ;  who 
can  tell  what  lies  in  store  for  any  of  us,  when  we  begin  to  plan 
and  scheme  ?  However,  I  am  not  disposed  to  regard  it  as  your 
fault.  I  will  impose  no  fine  or  punishment,  as  if  we  were  play- 
ing at  theatre-acting.  I  have  neither  kith  nor  kin  of  my  own ;  and 
it  is  my  wish  that,  at  my  death,  Denny-mains  should  go  to  you." — 

The  Youth's  face  turned  red ;  yet  he  did  not  know  how  to  ex- 
press his  gratitude.  It  did  not  quite  seem  a  time  for  sentiment ; 
the  Laird  was  talking  in  such  a  matter-of-fact  way. 

"  Subject  to  certain  conditions,"  he  continued.  "  First  of  all, 
I  spoke  some  time  ago  of  spending  a  sum  of  £3000  on  a  steam- 
yacht.  Dismiss  that  from  your  mind.  I  cannot  afford  it ;  nei- 
ther will  you  be  able." 


A    RELEASE.  29*7 

The  young  man  stared  at  this.  P'or  although  he  cared  very 
little  about  the  steam-yacht — having  a  less  liking  for  the  sea  than 
some  of  us — he  was  surprised  to  hear  that  a  sum  like  £3000  was 
even  a  matter  for  consideration  to  a  reputedly  rich  man  like  his 
uncle. 

"Oh  certainly,  sir,"  said  he.    "  I  don't  at  all  want  a  steam-yacht." 

"  Very  well ;  we  will  now  proceed." 

The  Laird  took  up  one  of  the  documents  beside  him,  and  be- 
gan to  draw  certain  lines  on  the  back  of  it. 

"  Ye  will  remember,"  said  he,  pointing  with  his  pencil,  "  that 
where  the  estate  proper  of  Denny-mains  runs  out  to  the  Coulter- 
burn  road  there  is  a  piece  of  land  belonging  to  me,  on  which  are 
two  tenements,  yielding  together,  I  should  say,  about  £300  a  year. 
By-and-by,  if  a  road  should  be  cut  so — across  to  the  Netherbig- 
gins  road — that  land  will  be  more  valuable ;  many  a  one  will  be 
wanting  to  feu  that  piece  then,  mark  my  words.  However,  let 
that  stand  by.  In  the  mean  time  I  have  occasion  for  a  sum  of 
ten  thousand  three  hundred  pounds — " 

The  Youth  looked  still  more  alarmed  :  had  his  uncle  been 
speculating  ? 

"  — and  I  have  considered  it  my  duty  to  ask  you,  as  the  future 
proprietor  of  Denny-mains  in  all  human  probability,  whether  ye 
would  rather  have  these  two  tenements  sold,  with  as  much  of  the 
adjoining  land  as  would  make  up  that  sum,  or  whether  ye  would 
have  the  sum  made  a  charge  on  the  estate  generally,  and  take 
your  chance  of  that  land  rising  in  value  ?     What  say  ye?" 

The  Laird  had  been  prepared  for  all  this ;  but  the  Youth  was 
not.     lie  looked  rather  frightened. 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  hear,  sir,"  he  stammered,  "  that — that 
you  were  pressed  for  money." 

"  Pressed  for  money !"  said  the  Laird,  severely  ;  "  I  am  not 
pressed  for  money.  There  is  not  a  square  yard  of  Denny-mains 
with  a  farthing  of  mortgage  on  it.  Come,  let's  hear  what  ye 
have  to  say." 

"Then,"  said  the  young  man,  collecting  his  wits,  "my  opinion 
is  that  a  man  should  do  what  he  likes  with  his  own." 

"  That's  well  said,"  returned  the  Laird,  much  mollified.  "  And 
I'm  no  sure  but  that,  if  we  were  to  roup*  that  land,  that  quarrel- 

*  To  ro?<p,  to  sell  by  public  auction. 
14* 


298  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

some  body  Johnny  Guthrie  might  not  be  trying  to  buy  it;  and 
I  would  not  liave  him  for  a  neighbor  on  any  consideration.  Well, 
I  will  write  to  Todd  &  Buchanan  about  it  at  once." 

The  Laird  rose  and  began  to  bundle  his  papers  together.  The 
Youth  laid  hold  of  the  fishing-rods,  and  was  about  to  carry  them 
off  somewhere,  when  he  was  suddenly  called  back. 

"  Dear  me  !"  said  the  Laird,  "  my  memory's  going.  There  was 
another  thing  I  was  going  to  put  before  ye,  lad.  Our  good  friends 
here  have  been  very  kind  in  asking  ye  to  remain  so  long.  I'm 
thinking  ye  might  offer  to  give  up  your  state-room  before  they 
start  on  this  long  trip.  Is  there  any  business  or  occupation  ye 
would  like  to  be  after  in  the  South  ?" 

The  flash  of  light  that  leaped  to  the  young  man's  face ! 

"  Why,  uncle,"  he  exclaimed,  eagerly,  diving  his  hand  into  his 
pocket,  "  I  have  twice  been  asked  by  old  Barnes  to  go  to  his 
place — the  best  partridge-shooting  in  Bedfordshire — " 

But  the  Youth  recollected  himself. 

"  I  mean,"  said  he,  seriously,  "  Barnes,  the  swell  solicitor,  don't 
you  know — Hughes,  Barnes  &  Barnes.  It  would  be  an  uncom- 
monly good  thing  for  me  to  stand  well  with  them.  They  are 
just  the  making  of  a  young  fellow  at  the  Bar  when  they  take 
him  up.  Old  Barnes's  son  was  at  Cambridge  with  me  ;  but  he 
doesn't  do  anything  —  an  idle  fellow  —  cares  for  nothing  but 
shooting  and  billiards.     I  really  ought  to  cultivate  old  Barnes." 

The  Laird  eyed  him  askance. 

"  Off  ye  go  to  your  partridge-shooting,  and  make  no  more  pre- 
tence," said  he  ;  and  then  he  added,  "  And  look  here,  my  lad — 
when  ye  leave  this  house  I  hope  ye  will  express  in  a  proper  form 
your  thanks  for  the  kindness  ye  have  received.  No,  no  ;  I  do  not 
like  the  way  of  you  English  in  that  respect.  Ye  take  no  notice 
of  anything.  Ye  receive  a  man's  hospitality  for  a  Avcek,  a  fort- 
night, a  month  ;  and  then  ye  shake  hands  with  him  at  the  door, 
and  walk  out,  as  if  nothing  had  happened  !  These  niay'be  good- 
manners  in  England ;  they  are  not  here." 

"  I  can't  make  a  speech,  uncle,"  said  tlio  Youth,  slyly.  "  They 
don't  teach  us  those  things  at  the  English  public  schools." 

"  Ye  gowk  !"  said  the  Laird,  severely,  "  do  you  think  I  want  ye 
to  make  a  speech,  like  Norval  on  the  Grampian  Hills?  I  want 
ye  to  express  in  proper  language  your  thankfulness  for  the  atten- 
tion and  kindness  that  have  been  bestowed  on  ye.     What  arc  yo 


"while  the  ripples  fold  upon  sands  of  gold."     299 

afraid  of  ?  Have  ye  not  got  a  mouth  ?  From  all  that  I  can  hear, 
the  English  have  a  wonderful  fluency  of  speech,  when  there  is  no 
occasion  for  it  at  all — bletlierin  away  like  twenty  steam-engines, 
and  not  a  grain  of  wheat  to  be  found  when  a'  the  stour  is  laid." 


CHAPTER  XL. 

*'  while  the  ripples  fold  upon  sands  of  gold." 

The  days  passed,  and  still  the  Laird  professed  to  be  profound- 
ly busy ;  and  our  departure  for  the  North  was  further  and  fur- 
ther postponed.  The  Youth  had  at  first  expressed  his  intention 
of  waiting  to  see  us  off ;  which  was  very  kind  on  his  part,  con- 
sidering how  anxious  he  was  to  cultivate  the  acquaintance  of  that 
important  solicitor.  His  patience,  however,  at  last  gave  out,  and 
he  begged  to  be  allowed  to  start  on  a  certain  morning.  The 
evening  before  we  walked  down  to  the  shore  with  him,  and  got 
pulled  out  to  the  yacht,  and  sat  on  deck  while  he  went  below  to 
pack  such  things  as  had  been  left  in  his  state-room. 

"  It  will  be  a  strange  thing,"  said  our  gentle  Admiral-in-chief, 
"  for  us  to  have  a  cabin  empty.  That  has  never  happened  to  us 
in  the  Highlands  all  the  time  we  have  been  here.  It  will  be  a 
sort  of  ghost's  room ;  we  shall  not  dare  to  look  into  it  for  fear 
of  seeing  something  to  awaken  old  memories." 

She  put  her  hand  in  her  pocket,  and  drew  out  some  small 
object. 

"  Look  !"  said  she,  quite  sentimentally. 

It  was  only  a  bit  of  pencil :  if  it  had  been  the  skull  of  Socra- 
tes, she  could  not  have  regarded  it  with  a  greater  interest. 

"  It  is  the  pencil  Angus  used  to  mark  our  games  with.  I 
found  it  in  the  saloon  the  day  before  yesterday ;"  and  then  she 
added,  almost  to  herself,  "  I  wonder  where  he  is  now  ?" 

The  answer  to  this  question  startled  us. 

"  In  Paris,"  said  the  Laird. 

But  no  sooner  had  he  uttered  the  words  than  he  seemed  some- 
what embarrassed. 

"That  is,  I  believe  so,"  he  said,  hastily.  "  I  am  not  in  corre- 
spondence with  him.     I  do  not  know  for  certain.     I  have  heard 


300  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 

— it  lias  been  stated  to  me — -that  lie  raiglit  perhaps  remain  until 
the  end  of  this  week  in  Paris  before  going  on  to  Naples." 

He  appeared  rather  anxious  to  avoid  being  further  questioned. 
He  began  to  discourse  upon  certain  poems  of  Burns,  whom  he 
had  once  or  twice  somewhat  slightingly  treated.  He  was  now 
bent  on  making  ample  amends.  In  especial,  he  asked  whether 
his  hostess  did  not  remember  the  beautiful  verse  in  "  Mary  Mor- 
ison,"  which  describes  the  lover  looking  on  at  the  dancing  of  a 
number  of  young  people,  and  conscious'  only  that  his  own  sweet- 
heart is  not  there. 

"  Do  ye  remember  it,  ma'am  ?"  said  he ;  and  he  proceeded  to 
repeat  it  for  her : 

"  '  Yestreen,  when  to  the  trembling  string 

The  dance  gaed  through  the  lighted  ha', 
To  thee  my  fancy  took  its  wing ; 

I  sat,  but  neither  heard  nor  saw. 
Though  this  was  fair,  and  that  was  braw", 

And  yon  the  toast  of  a'  the  town, 
I  sighed,  and  said,  amang  them  a', 

"  Ye  are  na  Mary  Morisou."  ' 

Beautiful,  beautiful,  is  it  not  ?  And  that  is  an  extraordinary  busi- 
ness— and  as  old  as  the  hills,  too — of  one  young  person  waling* 
out  another  as  the  object  of  all  the  hopes  of  his  or  her  life; 
and  nothing  will  do  but  that  one.  Ye  may  show  them  people 
who  are  better  to  look  at,  richer,  cleverer;  ye  may  reason  and 
argue ;  ye  may  make  plans,  and  what  not :  it  is  all  of  no  use. 
And  people  who  have  grown  up,  and  who  forget  what  they  them- 
selves were  at  twenty  or  twenty-five,  may  say  what  they  like  about 
the  foolishness  of  a  piece  of  sentiment;  and  they  may  prove  to 
the  young  folks  that  this  madness  will  not  last,  and  that  they 
should  marry  for  more  substantial  reasons ;  but  ye  are  jist  talk- 
ing to  the  wind  !  Madness  or  not  madness,  it  is  human  nature ; 
and  ye  might  jist  as  well  try  to  fight  against  the  tides.  I  will 
say  this,  too,"  continued  the  Laird,  and  as  he  wanned  to  his  sub- 
ject he  rose  and  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the  deck,  "  if  a 
young  man  were  to  come  and  tell  me  that  he  was  ready  to  throw 
up  a  love-match  for  the  sake  of  prudence  and  worldly  advantage, 
I  would  say  to  him, '  Man,  ye  are  a  poor  crayture.     Yc  have  not 

*  Waling — choosing. 


"WHILE    THE    RIPPLES    FOLD    UPON    SANDS    OF    GOLD."       301 

got  the  backbone  of  a  mouse  in  ye!'  I  have  no  respect  for  a 
young  n)an  who  has  prudence  beyond  his  years ;  not  one  bit.  If 
it  is  human  nature  for  a  man  at  fifty  years  to  laugh  at  sentiment 
and  romance,  it  is  human  nature  for  a  man  at  twenty-five  to  be- 
lieve in  them ;  and  he  who  does  not  believe  in  them  then,  I  say, 
is  a  poor  crayture.  lie  will  never  come  to  anything.  He  may 
make  money ;  but  he  will  be  a  poor  stupid  ass  all  his  days,  just 
without  those  experiences  that  make  life  a  beautiful  thing  to  look 
back  on." 

He  came  and  sat  down  by  Mary  Avon. 

"  Perhaps  a  sad  thing,  too,"  said  he,  as  he  took  her  hand  in 
his;  "but  even  that  is  better  than  a  dull  causeway,  with  an  ani- 
mal trudging  along,  and  sorely  burdened  with  the  world's  wealth. 
And  now,  my  lass,  have  ye  got  everything  tight  and  trim  for  the 
grand  voyage  ?" 

"  She  has  been  at  it  again,  sir,"  said  his  hostess,  interposing. 
*'  She  wants  to  set  out  for  the  South  to-morrow  morning." 

"  It  would  be  a  convenient  chance  for  me,"  said  the  girl,  sim- 
ply. "  Mr.  Smith  might  be  good  enough  to  see  me  as  far  as 
Greenock — though,  indeed,  I  don't  at  all  mind  travelling  by  my- 
self. I  must  stop  at  Kendal — is  that  where  the  junction  is  ? — for 
I  promised  the  poor  old  woman  who  died  in  Edinburgh  that  I 
would  call  and  see  some  relations  of  hers  who  live  near  Winder- 
mere." 

"  They  can  wait,  surely,"  said  the  Laird,  with  frowning  eye- 
brows, as  if  the  poor  people  at  Windermere  had  attempted  to  do 
him  some  deadly  injury. 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  hurry  for  them,"  said  she.  "  They  do  not 
even  know  that  I  am  coming.  But  this  chance  of  Mr.  Smith  go- 
ing by  the  steamer  to-morrow  would  be  convenient." 

"  Put  that  fancy  out  of  your  head,"  said  he,  with  decision. 
"Ye  are  going  to  no  Greenock,  and  to  no  Kendal,  at  the  present 
time.  Ye  are  going  away  with  us  to  the  North,  to  see  such 
things  as  ye  never  saw  before  in  your  life.  And  if  ye  are  anx- 
ious to  get  on  with  your  work,  I'll  tell  ye  what  I'll  do.  There's 
our  Provost  McKendrick  has  been  many  a  time  telling  me  of  the 
fine  salmon-fishing  he  got  at  the  west  side  of  Lewis — I  think  he 
said  at  a  place  called  Gometra — " 

"  Griraersta,"  is  here  suggested. 

"  The  very  place.     Ye  shall  paint  a  picture  of  Grimersta,  my 


302  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

lass,  on  commission  for  the  Provost,  I  authorize  ye :  if  he  will 
not  take  it,  I  will  take  it  myself.  Never  mind  what  the  place  is 
like — the  Provost  has  no  more  imagination  than  a  boiled  lobster ; 
but  he  knows  when  he  has  good  friends,  and  good  fishing,  and  a 
good  glass  of  whiskey ;  and,  depend  on  it,  he'll  be  proud  to  have 
a  picture  of  the  place,  on  your  own  terms.  I  tell  ye,  I  authorize 
ye." 

Here  the  Youth  came  on  deck,  saying  he  was  now  ready  to  go 
asliore. 

"Do  you  know,  sir,"  said  his  hostess,  rising,  "what  Mary  has 
been  trying  to  get  me  to  believe  ? — that  she  is  afraid  of  the  equi- 
noctials !" 

The  Laird  laughed  aloud. 

"That  is  a  good  one — that  is  a  good  one!"  he  cried.  "I  never 
heard  a  better  story  about  Ilomesh." 

"  I  know  the  gales  are  very  wild  here  when  they  begin,"  said 
Miss  Avon,  seriously.     "  Every  one  says  so." 

But  the  Laird  only  laughs  the  more,  and  is  still  chuckling  to 
himself  as  he  gets  down  into  the  gig :  the  notion  of  Mary  Avon 
being  afraid  of  anything — of  fifteen  dozen  of  equinoctial  gales, 
for  example — was  to  him  simply  ludicrous. 

But  a  marked  and  unusual  change  came  over  the  Laird's  man- 
ner when  we  got  back  to  Castle  Osprey.  During  all  the  time  he 
had  been  with  us,  although  he  had  had  occasionally  to  administer 
rebukes -with  more  or  less  of  solemnity,  he  had  never  once  lost 
his  temper.  We  should  have  imagined  it  impossible  for  any- 
thing to  have^  disturbed  his  serene  dignity  or  demeanor.  But 
now — when  he  discovered  that  there  was  no  letter  awaiting  any 
one  of  us — his  impatience  seemed  dangerously  akin  to  vexation 
and  anger.  He  would  have  the  servants  summoned  and  cross- 
examined.  Then  he  would  not  believe  them,  but  must  needs 
search  the  various  rooms  for  himself.  The  afternoon  post  had 
really  brought  nothing  but  a  newspaper — addressed  to  the  Laird 
— and  that  he  testily  threw  into  the  waste-paper  basket  without 
o{)ening  it.     We  had  never  seen  him  give  way  like  this  before. 

At  dinner,  too,  his  temper  was  no  better.  He  began  to  deride 
the  business  habits  of  the  Englisli  people — which  was  barely  civil. 
He  said  that  the  English  feared  the  Scotch  and  the  Germans  just 
as  the  Americans  feared  the  Chinese — because  the  latter  were  the 
more  indefatigable  workers.     He  declare]  that  if  the  London 


"while  the  ripples  fold  upon  sands  of  gold."     303 

men  had  less  Amontillado  sherry  and  cigarettes  in  their  private 
otlicc-roonis,  their  business  would  be  conducted  with  much  great- 
er accuracy  and  despatch.  Then  another  thought  struck  him  : 
were  the  servants  prepared  to  swear  that  no  registered  letter  had 
been  presented  in  the  afternoon,  and  taken  away  again  because 
there  was  no  one  in  the  bouse  to  sign  the  receipt?  Inquiry  be- 
ing made,  it  was  found  that  no  such  kHter  had  been  presented. 
But  finally,  when  the  turmoil  about  this  wretched  thing  was  at 
its  height,  the  Laird  was  pressed  to  say  from  which  part  of  the 
country  the  missive  was  expected.  From  London,  he  said.  It 
was  then  pointed  out  to  him  that  the  London  letters  were  usual- 
ly sent  along  in  the  evening — sometimes  as  late  as  eight  or  nine 
o'clock.     lie  went  on  with  his  dinner,  grumbling. 

Sure  enough,  before  he  had  finished  dinner  a  footstep  was 
heard  on  the  gravel  outside.  The  Laird,  without  any  apology, 
jumped  up  and  went  to  the  window. 

"  There's  the  postman,"  said  he,  as  he  resumed  his  seat.  "  Ye 
might  give  him  a  shilling,  ma'am  :  it  is  a  long  climb  up  the 
hill" 

It  was  the  postman,  no  doubt;  and  he  had  brought  a  letter, 
but  it  was  not  for  the  Laird.  AVe  were  all  apprehensive  of  a 
violent  storm  when  the  servant  passed  on  and  handed  this  letter 
to  Mary  Avon.  But  the  Laird  said  nothing.  Miss  Avon,  like  a 
properly  conducted  school-girl,  put  the  letter  in  her  pocket. 

There  was  no  storm.  On  the  contrary,  the  Laird  got  quite 
cheerful.  "When  his  hostess  hoped  that  no  serious  inconvenience 
would  result  from  the  non-arrival  of  the  letter,  he  said,  "  Not  the 
least."  He  began  and  told  us  the  story  of  the  old  lady  who  en- 
deavored to  engage  the  practical  Homesh — while  he  was  collect- 
ing tickets — in  a  disquisition  on  the  beauties  of  Highland  sce- 
nery, and  who  was  abruptly  bidden  to  "mind  her  own  pussness." 
We  had  heard  the  story  not  more  than  thirty-eight  times,  per- 
haps, from  various  natives  of  Scotland. 

But  the  letter  about  which  the  Laird  had  been  anxious  had — 
as  some  of  us  suspected — actually  arrived,  and  was  then  in  Mary 
Avon's  pocket.  After  dinner  the  two  women  went  into  the 
drawing-room.  Miss  Avon  sat  down  to  the  piano  and  began  to 
play,  idly  enough,  the  air  called  "  Ileimweh."  Of  what  home 
was  she  thinking  then — this  Avaif  and  stray  among  the  winds  of 
the  world  ? 


304  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

Tea  was  brought  in.  At  last  the  curiosity  of  the  elder  woman 
could  no  longer  be  restrained. 

"  Mary,"  said  she,  "are  you  not  going  to  read  that  letter?" 

"  Dear  me  !"  said  the  girl,  plunging  into  her  pocket ;  "  I  had 
forgotten  I  had  a  letter  to  read." 

She  took  it  out  and  opened  it,  and  began  to  read.  Her  face 
looked  puzzled  at  first,  then  alarmed.     She  turned  to  her  friend, 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  can  it  mean  ?"  she  said,  in  blank  dismay ; 
and  the  trembling  fingers  handed  her  the  letter. 

Her  friend  had  less  difliculty  in  understanding;  although,  to 
be  sure,  before  she  had  finished  this  perfectly  plain  and  matter- 
of-fact  communication  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  It  was 
merely  a  letter  from  the  manager  of  a  bank  in  London,  begging 
to  inform  Miss  Avon  that  he  had  just  received,  through  Messrs. 
Todd  &  Buchanan,  of  Glasgow,  a  sum  of  £10,300,  to  be  placed 
to  her  credit.  He  was  also  desired  to  say  that  this  sum  was  en- 
tirely at  her  own  free  disposal ;  but  the  donor  would  prefer — if 
she  had  no  objection — that  it  should  be  invested  in  some  home 
security — either  in  a  good  mortgage  or  in  the  Metropolitan  Board 
of  Works  stock.     It  was  a  plain  and  simple  letter. 

"Oh,  Mary,  don't  you  understand  —  don't  you  understand?" 
said  she.  "He  meant  to  have  given  you  a  steam-yacht  if — if 
you  married  Howard  Smith.  He  has  given  you  all  the  money 
you  lost,  and  the  steam-yacht  too.  And  there  is  not  a  word  of 
regret  about  all  his  plans  and  schemes  being  destroyed.  And 
this  is  the  man  we  have  all  been  making  fun  of!" 

In  her  conscious  self-abasement  she  did  not  perceive  how  be- 
wildered—how absolutely  frightened — this  girl  was.  Mary  Avon 
took  back  the  letter  mechanically ;  she  stood  silent  for  a  second 
or  two;  then  she  said,  almost  in  a  whisper, 

"  Giving  me  all  that  money !  Oh,  I  cannot  take  it — I  cannot 
take  it !  I  should  not  have  stayed  here.  I  should  not  have  told 
him  anything.     I — I  wish  to  go  away." 

But  the  common-sense  of  the  elder  woman  came  to  her  rescue. 
She  took  the  girl's  hand  firmly,  and  said, 

"  You  shall  not  go  away.  And  when  it  is  your  good-fortune 
to  meet  with  such  a  friend  as  that,  you  shall  not  wound  him  and 
insult  liira  by  refusing  what  he  has  given  to  you.  No ;  but  you 
will  go  at  once  and  thank  him." 

"  I  cannot — I  cannot !"  she  said,  with  both  her  hands  trem- 


^I^p. 


BACKWARD    THOUGHTS.  305 

bling.  "  What  shall  I  say  ?  How  can  I  thank  him  ?  If  he  were 
my  own  father  or  brother,  how  could  I  thank  him  ?" 

Her  friend  left  the  room  for  a  second,  and  returned. 

"  He  is  in  the  library  alone,"  said  she,  "  Go  to  liim.  And  do 
not  be  so  ungrateful  as  to  even  speak  of  refusing." 

The  girl  had  no  time  to  compose  any  speech.  She  walked  to 
the  library  door,  timidly  tapped  at  it,  and  entered.  The  Laird 
was  seated  in  an  easy-chair,  reading. 

When  he  saw  her  come  in — he  had  been  expecting  a  servant 
with  coffee,  probably — he  instantly  put  aside  his  book. 

"  Well,  Miss  Mary  ?"  said  he,  cheerfully. 

She  hesitated.  She  could  not  speak ;  her  throat  was  choking. 
And  then,  scarcely  knowing  what  she  did,  she  sunk  down  before 
him,  and  put  her  head  and  her  hands  on  his  knees,  and  burst  out 
crying  and  sobbing.  And  all  that  he  could  hear  of  any  speech- 
making,  or  of  any  gratitude  or  thanks,  was  only  two  words — 

''Ml/ father r 

He  put  his  hand  gently  on  the  soft  black  hair. 

"  Child,"  said  he,  "  it  is  nothing.     I  have  kept  my  word." 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

BACKWARD     THOUGHTS. 


That  was  a  beautiful  morning  on  which  we  got  up  at  an  un- 
earthly hour  to  see  the  Youth  depart — all  of  us,  that  is  to  say, 
except  Mary  Avon.  And  yet  she  was  not  usually  late.  The 
Laird  could  not  understand  it.  He  kept  walking  from  one  room 
to  another,  or  hovering  about  the  hall ;  and  when  the  breakfast- 
gong  sounded,  he  refused  to  come  in  and  take  his  place  without 
liis  accustomed  companion.  But  just  at  this  moment  whom 
should  he  behold  entering  by  the  open  door  but  Mary  Avon  her- 
self— laden  with  her  artistic  impedimenta.  He  pounced  on  her 
at  once,  and  seized  the  canvas. 

"  Bless  me,  lassie,  what  have  ye  been  about  ?  Have  yc  done 
all  this  this  morning?  Ye  must  have  got  up  in  the  middle  of 
the  night !" 

It  was  but  a  rough  sketch,  after  all — or  the  beginnings  of  a 


306  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

sketch,  rather — of  tlie  wide,  beautiful  sea  and  mountain  view 
from  the  garden  of  Castle  Osprey. 

"  I  thought,  sir,"  said  she,  in  a  somewhat  hesitating  way,  "  that 
you  might,  perhaps,  be  so  kind  as  to  accept  from  me  those  sketches 
I  have  made  on  board  the  White  Dove — and — and  if  they  were 
at  Denny-mains,  I  should  like  to  have  the  series  complete — and — 
and  it  would  naturally  begin  with  a  sketch  from  the  garden  here — " 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  with  a  grave,  perhaps  wistful, 
kindness  in  his  face. 

"  My  lass,  I  would  rather  have  seen  you  at  Denny-mains." 

That  was  the  very  last  word  he  ever  uttered  concerning  the 
dream  that  had  just  been  disturbed.  And  it  was  only  about  this 
time,  I  think,  that  we  began  to  recognize  the  simple,  large,  noble 
nature  of  this  man.  We  had  been  too  much  inclined  to  regard 
the  mere  husks  and  externals  of  his  character — to  laugh  at  his 
assumption  of  parochial  importance,  his  solemn  discussions  of  the 
Semple  case,  his  idiotic  stories  about  Homesh.  And  it  was  not 
a  mere  freak  of  generosity  that  revealed  to  us  something  of  the 
finer  nature  of  this  old  Scotchman.  People  as  rich  as  he  have 
often  paid  bigger  sums  than  £10,300  for  the  furtherance  of  a 
hobby.  But  it  was  to  put  away  his  hobby — it  was  to  destroy 
forever  the  "dream  of  his  old  age" — that  he  had  been  thus  mu- 
nificent toward  this  girl.  And  there  was  no  complaint  or  regret. 
He  had  told  us  it  was  time  for  him  to  put  away  childish  things. 
And  this  was  the  last  word  said — "  My  lass,  I  would  rather  have 
seen  you  at  Denny-mains." 

The  Laird  was  exceedingly  facetious  at  this  breakfast-party, 
and  his  nephew  had  a  bad  time  of  it.  There  were  mysterious 
questions  about  Messrs.  Hughes,  Barnes  &  Barnes ;  as  to  whether 
consultations  were  best  held  in  stubble  or  in  turnips ;  or  whether 
No.  5  shot  was  the  best  for  bringing  down  briefs ;  and  so  forth. 

"  Never  mind,  uncle,"  said  the  Youth,  good-naturedly.  "  I  will 
send  you  some  partridges  for  the  larder  of  the  yacht." 

"  You  need  not  do  anything  of  the  kind,"  said  the  Laird ; 
*'  before  you  are  in  Bedfordshire  the  White  Dove  will  be  many  a 
mile  away  from  the  course  of  luggage  steamers." 

"Oh,  are  you  ready  to  start,  then,  sir?"  said  his  hostess. 

"  This  very  meenute,  if  it  pleases  you,"  said  he. 

She  looked  rather  alarmed,  but  said  nothing.  In  the  mean 
time  the  wagonette  had  come  to  the  door. 


BACKWARD    THOUGHTS.  307 

B\'-aTid-l)y  there  was  a  small  party  assembled  on  the  steps  to 
see  the  Youth  drive  off.  And  now  the  time  liad  come  for  him 
to  make  that  speech  of  tlianks  which  his  uncle  had  pointed  out 
was  distinctly  due  from  him.  The  Laird,  indeed,  regarded  his 
departure  with  a  critical  air;  and  no  doubt  waited  to  see  how 
his  nephew  would  acquit  himself. 

.  Perhaps  tlie  Youth  had  forgotten.  At  all  events,  having  bid- 
den good-bye  to  the  others,  he  shook  hands  last  of  all  with  his 
hostess,  and  said,  lightly, 

"  Thank  you  very  much.  I  have  enjoyed  the  whole  thing  tre- 
mendously." 

Then  he  jumped  into  the  wagonette,  and  took  off  his  cap  as 
a  parting  salute  ;  and  away  he  went.  The  Laird  frowned.  When 
he  was  a  young  man  that  was  not  the  way  in  which  hospitality 
was  acknowledged. 

Then  Mary  Avon  turned  from  regarding  the  departing  wag- 
onette. 

"Are  we  to  get  ready  to  start?"  said  she. 

"  What  do  you  say,  sir?"  asks  the  hostess  of  the  Laird. 

"  I  am  at  your  service,"  he  replies. 

And  so  it  appeared  to  be  arranged.  But  still  Queen  Titania 
looked  irresolute  and  uneasy.  She  did  not  at  once  set  the  whole 
house  in  an  uproar ;  or  send  down  for  the  men ;  or  begin  her- 
self to  harry  the  garden.  She  kept  loitering  about  the  door, 
pretending  to  look  at  the  signs  of  the  weather.  At  last  Mary 
said, 

"  Well,  in  any  case  you  will  be  more  than  an  hour  in  having 
the  things  carried  down ;  so  I  will  do  a  little  bit  more  to  that 
sketch  in  the  mean  time." 

The  moment  she  was  gone,  her  hostess  says,  in  a  hurried  whis- 
per to  the  Laird, 

"  Will  you  come  into  the  library,  sii",  for  a  moment  ?" 

He  obediently  followed  her,  and  she  shut  the  door. 

"  Are  we  to  start  without  Angus  Sutherland  ?"  she  asked,  with- 
out circumlocution. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am — "  said  the  wily  Laird. 

Then  she  was  forced  to  explain,  which  she  did  in  a  somewhat 
nervous  manner. 

"  Mary  has  told  me,  sir,  of  your  very,  very  great  generosity  to 
her.     I  hope  you  will  let  me  thank  you,  too."  * 


308  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

"  There  is  not  another  word  to  be  said  about  it,"  he  said,  sim- 
ply. "  I  found  a  small  matter  wrong  in  the  world  that  I  thought 
I  could  put  right,  and  I  did  it ;  and  now  we  start  fresh  and  straight 
again.     That  is  all." 

"  But  about  Angus  Sutherland,"  said  she,  still  more  timidly. 
"You  were  quite  right  in  your  conjectures — at  least,  I  imagine 
so  —  indeed,  I  am  sure  of  it.  And  now,  don't  you  think  we 
should  send  for  him  ?" 

"  The  other  day,  ma'am,"  said  he,  slowly,  "  I  informed  ye  that 
when  I  considered  my  part  done  I  would  leave  the  matter  in  your 
hands  entirely,  I  had  to  ask  some  questions  of  the  lass,  no  doubt, 
to  make  sure  of  my  ground ;  but  I  felt  it  was  not  a  business  fit 
for  an  old  bachelor  like  me  to  intermeddle  wi',  I  am  now  of 
opinion  that  it  would  be  better,  as  I  say,  to  leave  the  matter  in 
your  hands  entirely." 

The  woman  looked  rather  bewildered. 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do  ?"  said  she.  "  Mary  will  never  allow 
me  to  send  for  him — and  I  have  not  his  address,  in  any  case — " 

The  Laird  took  a  telegram  from  his  breast-pocket. 

"  There  it  is,"  said  he,  "  until  the  end  of  this  week,  at  all 
events." 

She  looked  at  it  hesitatingly ;  it  was  from  the  office  of  the 
magazine  that  Angus  Sutherland  edited,  and  was  in  reply  to  a 
question  of  the  Laird's.     Then  she  lifted  her  eyes. 

"  Do  you  think  I  might  ask  Mary  herself  ?" 

"  That  is  for  a  woman  to  decide,"  said  he ;  and  again  she  was 
thrown  back  on  her  own  resources. 

Well,  this  midge  of  a  woman  has  some  courage,  too.  She  began 
to  reflect  on  what  the  Laird  had  adventured,  and  done,  for  the 
sake  of  this  girl ;  and  was  she  not  prepared  to  risk  something 
also?  After  all,  if  these  two.  had  been  fostering  a  vain  delusion, 
it  would  be  better  to  have  it  destroyed  at  once. 

And  so  she  went  out  into  the  garden,  where  she  found  Miss 
Avon  again  seated  at  her  easel.  She  went  gently  over  to  her ; 
she  had  the  telegram  in  her  hand.  For  a  second  or  two  she 
stood  irresolute ;  then  she  boldly  walked  across  the  lawn,  and 
put  her  hand  on  the  girl's  shoulder.  With  the  other  hand  she 
held  the  telegram  before  Mary  Avon's  eyes. 

"Mary,"  said  she,- in  a  very  low  and  gentle  voice,  "will  you 
write  to  him  now  and  ask  him  to  conic  back?" 


BACKWARD    THOUGHTS.  309 

The  girl  dropped  the  brush  she  had  been  holduig  on  to  the 
grass,  and  her  face  got  very  pale. 

"  Oh,  how  could  I  do  that  ?"  said  she,  in  an  equally  low  and 
frightened  voice. 

"  You  sent  him  away." 

There  was  no  answer.  The  elder  wonjan  waited ;  she  only 
saw  that  Mary  Avon's  fingers  were  working  nervously  with  the 
edge  of  the  palette. 

"  Mary,"  said  she,  at  length, "  am  I  right  in  imagining  the  cause 
of  your  sending  him  away  ?  May  I  write  and  explain,  if  you  will 
not  ?" 

"  Oh,  how  can  you  explain  ?"  the  girl  said,  almost  piteously. 
"  It  is  better  as  it  is.  Did  you  not  hear  what  the  kindest  friend 
I  ever  found  in  the  world  had  to  say  of  me  yesterday,  about  young 
people  who  were  too  prudent,  and  were  mercenary ;  and  how  he  had 
no  respect  for  young  people  who  thought  too  much  about  money — " 

"  Mary,  Mary !"  the  other  said,  "  he  was  not  speaking  about 
you.  You  mercenary  !  He  was  speaking  about  a  young  man 
who  would  throw  over  his  sweetheart  for  the  sake  of  money. 
You  mercenary  !  Well,  let  me  appeal  to  Angus !  When  I  ex- 
plain to  him,  and  ask  him  what  he  thinks  of  you,  I  will  abide  by 
his  answer." 

"  Well,  1  did  not  think  of  myself ;  it  was  for  his  sake  I  did 
it,"  said  the  girl,  in  a  somewhat  broken  voice;  and  tears  began 
to  steal  down  her  cheeks,  and  she  held  her  head  away. 

"  Well,  then,  I  won't  bother  you  any  more,  Mary,"  said  the 
other,  in  her  kindliest  way.  "  I  won't  ask  you  to  do  anything, 
except  to  get  ready  to  get  down  to  the  yacht." 

"At  once?"  said  the  girl,  instantly  getting  up  and  drying  her 
eyes.  She  seemed  greatly  relieved  by  this  intimation  of  an  im- 
mediate start. 

'*  As  soon  as  the  men  have  the  luggage  taken  down." 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  very  pleasant !"  said  she,  immediately  begin- 
ning to  put  away  her  colors.  "  What  a  fine  breeze !  I  am  sure 
I  shall  be  ready  in  fifteen  minutes." 

Then  the  usual  bustle  began ;  messages  flying  up  and  down, 
and  the  gig  and  dingy  racing  each  other  to  the  shore  and  back 
again.  By  twelve  o'clock  everything  had  been  got  on  board. 
Then  the  White  Dove  gently  glided  away  from  her  moorings : 
we  had  started  on  our  last  and  longest  voyage. 

15 


310  WHITE    wings:     a    YACHTINa    ROMANCE. 

It  seemed  innumerable  ages  since  we  had  been  in  our  sea-home. 
And  that  first  glance  round  the  saloon — as  our  absent  friend  the 
Doctor  liad  remarked  —  called  up  a  multitude  of  recollections, 
mostly  converging  to  a  general  sense  of  snugness,  and  remote- 
ness, and  good-fellowship.  The  Laird  sunk  down  into  a  corner 
of  one  of  the  couches,  and  said, 

"  Well,  I  think  I  could  spend  the  rest  of  my  days  in  this  yacht. 
It  seems  as  if  I  had  lived  in  it  for  many,  many  years." 

But  Miss  Avon  would  not  let  him  remain  below ;  it  was  a  fine 
sailing  day,  and  very  soon  we  were  all  on  deck.  A  familiar  scene 
— this  expanse  of  blue  sea,  curling  with  Avhite  here  and  there, 
with  a  dark-blue  sky  overhead,  and  all  around  the  grand  pano- 
rama of  mountains  in  their  rich  September  hues?  The  sea  is 
never  familiar.  In  its  constant  and  moving  change,  its  secret  and 
slumbering  power,  its  connection  with  the  great  unknown  beyond 
the  visible  horizon,  you  never  become  familiar  with  the  sea.  We 
may  recognize  the  well-known  landmarks  as  we  steal  away  to  the 
north — the  long  promontory  and  white  light-house  of  Lismore, 
the  ruins  of  Duart,  the  woods  of  Scallasdale,  the  glimpse  into 
Loch  Aline — and  we  may  use  these  things  only  to  calculate  our 
progress;  but  always  around  us  is  the  strange  life,  and  motion, 
and  infinitude  of  the  sea,  which  never  becomes  familiar. 

We  had  started  with  a  light  favorable  wind,  of  the  sort  that 
we  had  come  to  call  a  Mary  -  Avon  -  steering  breeze;  but  after 
luncheon  this  died  away,  and  we  lay  idly  for  a  long  time  oppo- 
site the  dark -green  woods  of  Fuinary.  However,  there  was  a 
wan  and  spectral  look  about  the  sunshine  of  this  afternoon,  and 
there  were  some  long,  ragged  shreds  of  cloud  in  the  Southern 
heavens — just  over  the  huge  round  shoulders  of  the  Mull  moun- 
tains— that  told  us  we  were  not  likely  to  be  harassed  by  any  pro- 
triicted  calms.  And,  in  fact,  occasional  puffs  and  squalls  came 
over  from  the  south,  which,  if  they  did  not  send  us  on  much  far- 
ther, at  least  kept  everybody  on  the  alert. 

And  at  length  we  go  it.  The  gloom  over  the  mountains  had 
deepened,  and  the  streaks  of  sunlit  sky  that  were  visible  here  and 
there  had  a  curious  coppery  tinge  about  them.  Then  we  heard 
a  hissing  in  toward  the  shore,  and  the  darkening  band  on  the  sea 
spread  rapidly  out  to  us;  then  there  was  a  violent  shaking  of 
blocks  and  spars,  and,  as  the  White  Dove  bent  to  the  squall,  a 
most  frightful  clatter  was  heard  below,  showing  that  some  care- 


BACKWARD    THOUGHTS.  311 

less  people  had  been  about.  Then  away  went  the  yacht  like  an 
arrow !  We  cared  little  for  the  gusts  of  rain  that  came  whip- 
ping across  from  time  to  time.  We  would  not  even  go  down  to 
see  what  damage  had  been  done  in  the  cabins.  John  of  Skye, 
with  his  savage  hatred  of  the  long  calms  we  had  endured,  refused 
to  lower  his  gaff-topsail.     At  last  he  was  "letting  her  have  it." 

We  spun  along,  with  the  water  hissing  away  from  our  wake ; 
but  the  squall  had  not  had  time  to  raise  anything  of  a  sea,  so 
there  was  but  little  need  for  the  women  to  duck  their  heads  to 
the  spray.  Promontory  after  promontory,  bay  after  bay  was 
passed,  until  far  ahead  of  us,  through  the  driving  mists  of  rain, 
we  could  make  out  the  white  shaft  of  Ru-na-Gaul  light-house. 
But  here  another  condition  of  affairs  confronted  us.  When  we 
turned  her  nose  to  the  south,  to  beat  into  Tobermory  harbor,  the 
squall  was  coming  tearing  out  of  that  cup  among  the  hills  with 
an  exceeding  violence.  When  the  spray  sprung  high  at  the  bows, 
the  flying  shreds  of  it  that  reached  us  bore  an  uncommon  resem- 
blance to  the  thong  of  a  whip.  The  top-sail  was  got  down,  the 
mizzen  taken  in,  and  then  we  proceeded  to  fight  our  way  into  the 
harbor  in  a  series  of  tacks  that  seemed  to  last  only  a  quarter  of 
a  second.  What  with  the  howling  of  the  wind,  that  blew  back 
his  orders  in  his  face ;  and  what  with  the  wet  decks,  thai'  caused 
the  men  to  stumble  now  and  again ;  and  what  with  the  number 
of  vessels  in  the  bay,  that  cut  short  his  tacks  at  every  turn.  Cap- 
tain John  of  Skye  had  an  exciting  time  of  it.  But  we  knew  him 
of  old.  He  "  put  on  "  an  extra  tack,  when  there  was  no  need  for 
it,  and  slipped  through  between  a  fishing -smack  and  a  large 
schooner,  merely  for  the  sake  of  "  showing  off."  And  then  the 
White  Dove  was  allowed  to  go  up  to  the  wind,  and  slowly  slack- 
ened her  pace,  and  the  anchor  went  out  with  a  roar.  We  were 
probably  within  a  yard  of  the  precise  spot  where  we  had  last  an- 
chored in  the  Tobermory  Bay. 

It  blew  and  rained  hard  all  that  evening,  and  we  did  not  even 
think  of  going  on  deck  after  dinner.  We  were  quite  content  as 
we  were.  Somehow  a  new  and  secret  spirit  of  cheerfulness  had 
got  possession  of  certain  members  of  this  party,  without  any 
ostensible  cause.  There  was  no  longer  the  depression  that  had 
prevailed  about  West  Loch  Tarbert.  When  Mary  Avon  played 
bezique  with  the  Laird,  it  was  to  a  scarcely  audible  accompani- 
ment of  "  The  Queen's  Maries." 


312  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 

Nor  did  the  evening  pass  without  an  incident  worthy  of  some 
brief  mention.  There  is,  in  the  White  Dove,  a  state-room  which 
really  acts  as  a  passage,  during  the  day,  between  the  saloon  and 
the  forecastle  ;  and,  when  this  state-room  is  not  in  use,  Master 
Fred  is  in  the  habit  of  converting  it  into  a  sort  of  pantry,  seeing 
that  it  adjoins  his  galley.  Now,  in  this  evening,  when  our  shifty 
Friedrich  d'or  came  in  with  soda-water  and  such  like  things,  he 
took  occasion  to  say  to  the  Rear-Admiral  of  the  Fleet  on  board, 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  mem,  but  there  is  no  one  now  in  this 
state-room,  and  will  I  use  it  for  a  pantry  ?" 

"  You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  Fred !"  said  she,  quite 
sharply. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

SAILING      NORTHWARD. 


*'  I  AM  almost  afraid  of  what  I  have  done  ;  but  it  is  past  recall 
now :"  this  is  the  mysterious  sentence  one  hears  on  climbing  up 
the  companion  next  morning.  It  is  Queen  Titania  and  the  Laird 
who  are  talking ;  but  as  soon  as  a  third  person  appears  they  be- 
come consciously  and  guiltily  silent.  What  does  it  matter  ?  We 
have  other  work  on  hand  than  prying  into  twopenny-halfpenny 
secrets. 

For  we  have  resolved  on  starting  away  for  the  north  in  spite 
of  this  fractious  weather.  A  more  unpromising-looking  morning, 
indeed,  for  setting  out  could  not  well  be  imagined — windy,  and 
wet,  and  squally ;  the  driven  green  sea  outside  springing  white 
where  it  meets  the  line  of  the  coast;  Loch  Snnart  and  its  moun- 
tains hidden  away  altogether  behind  the  mists  of  rain ;  wan 
flashes  of  sunlight  here  and  there  only  serving  to  show  how  swiftly 
the  clouds  are  flying.  But  the  White  Dove  has  been  drying  her 
wings  all  the  summer ;  she  can  afford  to  face  a  shower  now.  And 
while  the  men  are  hoisting  the  sail,  and  getting  the  anchor  hove 
short,  our  two  women-folk  array  themselves  in  tightly-shaped  ul- 
sters, with  hoods  drawn  over  their  heads;  and  the  Laird  appears 
in  a  waterproof  reaching  to  his  heels ;  and  even  the  skylights  have 
their  tarpaulins  thrown  over.  Dirty  weather  or  no,  we  mean  to 
start. 

Tlierc  are  two  or  three  yachts  in  the  bay,  the  last  of  the  sum- 


SAILING    NORTHWARD.  313 

mer  fleet  all  hastening  away  to  the  south.  There  is  no  move- 
ment on  the  decks  of  any  one  of  them.  Here  and  there,  how- 
ever, in  sheltered  places — under  a  bit  of  awning,  or  standing  by 
the  doors  of  deck-saloons — we  can  make  out  huddled  groups  of 
people,  who  are  regarding  with  a  pardonable  curiosity  the  opera- 
tions of  John  of  Skye  and  his  merry  men. 

"  They  take  us  for  maniacs,"  says  Queen  Titania  from  out  of 
her  hood,  "to  be  setting  out  for  the  north  in  such  weather." 

And  we  were  nearly  affording  those  amiable  spectators  a  pret- 
ty sight.  The  wind  coining  in  variable  gusts,  the  sails  failed  to 
fill  at  the  proper  moment,  and  the  White  Dove  drifted  right  on  to 
the  bows  of  a  great  schooner,  whose  bowsprit  loomed  portentous 
overhead.  There  was  a  wild  stampede  for  boat-hooks  and  oars ; 
and  then  with  arms,  and  feet,  and  poles — aided  by  the  swarming 
crew  of  the  schooner — we  managed  to  clear  her  with  nothing 
more  serious  than  an  ominous  grating  along  the  gig.  And  then 
the  wind  catching  her,  she  gradually  came  under  the  control  of 
Captain  John  ;  and  away  we  went  for  the  north,  beating  right  in 
the  teeth  of  the  gusts  that  came  tearing  over  from  the  mouth  of 
Loch  Sunart. 

"  It's  a  bad  wind,  mem,  for  getting  up  to  Isle  Ornsay,"  says 
John  of  Skye  to  the  Admiral.  "  Ay,  and  the  sea  pretty  coorse, 
too,  when  we  get  outside  Ardnaraurchan." 

"  Now  listen  to  me,  John,"  she  says  severely,  and  with  an  air 
of  authority — as  much  authority,  that  is  to  say,  as  can  be  assumed 
by  a  midge  enclosed  in  an  ulster—"  I  am  not  going  to  have  any 
of  that.  I  know  you  of  old.  As  soon  as  you  get  out  of  Tober- 
mory you  immediately  discover  that  the  wind  is  against  our  go- 
ing north;  and  we  turn  round  and  run  away  down  to  lona  and 
the  Bull-hole.  I  will  not  go  to  the  Ball-hole.  If  I  have  to  sail 
this  yacht  myself,  night  and  day,  I  will  go  to  Isle  Ornsa}"." 

"  If  ye  please,  mem,"  says  Johij  of  Skye,  grinning  with  great 
delight  over  her  facetiousness.  "  Oh,  I  will  tek  the  yat  to  Isle 
Ornsay  very  well,  if  the  leddies  not  afraid  of  a  little  coorse  sea, 
and  you  will  not  need  to  sail  the  yat  at  all,  mem.  But^  not 
afraid  to  let  you  sail  the  yat.  You  will  know  about  the  sailing 
now  shist  as  much  as  Mr.  Sutherland." 

At  the  mention  of  this  name,  Queen  Titania  glanced  at  Mary 
Avon,  perceived  she  was  not  listening,  and  went  nearer  to  John 
of  Skye,  and  said  something  to  him  in  a  lower  voice.     There  was 


314  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

a  quicTv  look  of  surprise  and  pleasure  on  the  handsome,  brown- 
bearded  face. 

"  Oh,  I  ferry  glad  of  that,  mem,"  said  he. 

"  Hush,  John  !     Not  a  word  to  anybody,"  said  she. 

By  this  time  we  had  beat  out  of  the  harbor,  and  were  now  get- 
ting longer  tacks ;  so  that  when  the  sheets  were  properly  coiled 
it  was  possible  for  the  Laird  and  Miss  Avon  to  attempt  a  series 
of  short  promenades  on  the  wet  decks.  It  was  an  uncertain  and 
unstable  performance,  to  be  sure,  for  the  sea  was  tumultuous; 
but  it  served. 

"  Mutual  help — that's  the  thing,"  said  the  Laird  to  his  com- 
panion, as  together  they  staggered  along,  or  stood  steady  to  con- 
front a  particularly  fierce  gust  of  wind.  "  We  are  independent 
of  the  world — this  solitary  vessel  out  in  the  waste  of  waters — but 
v/e  are  not  independent  of  each  other.  It  just  reminds  me  of 
the  small  burghs  outside  Glasgow :  we  wish  to  be  independent  of 
the  great  ceety  lying  near  us ;  we  prefer  to  have  a  separate  ex- 
istence ;  but  we  can  help  each  other,  for  all  that,  in  a  most  un- 
mistakable way — " 

Here  the  Laird  was  interrupted  by  the  calling  out  of  Captain 
John — '"'' Ready  about  P'' — and  he  and  his  companion  had  to  get 
out  of  the  way  of  the  boom.  Then  they  resumed  their  prome- 
nade, and  he  his  discourse. 

*'  Do  ye  think,  for  example,"  said  this  profound  philosopher, 
*'  that  any  one  burgh  would  have  been  competent  to  decide  on  a 
large  question  like  the  clauses  of  the  Police  Act  that  refer  to 
cleansing  and  lighting?" 

"I  am  not  sure,"  Miss  Avon  admitted. 

"  No,  no,"  said  he,  confidently,  "  large  questions  should  be  con- 
sidered in  common  council — with  every  opportunity  of  free  dis- 
cussion. I  do  not  much  like  to  speak  about  local  matters,  or  of 
my  own  share  in  them,  but  I  must  take  credit  for  this,  that  it 
was  myself  recommended  to  the  Commissioners  to  summon  a 
jniblic  meeting.  It  was  so,  and  the  meeting  was  quite  unani- 
mous. It  was  Provost  McKendrick,  ye  must  understand,  who 
formally  made  the  proposal  that  the  consideration  of  those 
clauses  should  be  remitted  to  the  clerks  of  the  various  burghs, 
who  were  to  report ;  but  the  suggestion  was  really  mine — I  make 
no  scruple  in  claiming  it.  And  then,  see  the  result !  When  the 
six  clerks  were  agreed,  and  sent  in  their  report,  look  at  the  au- 


SAILING    NORTHWARD.  315 

thority  of  such  a  document !  Who  but  an  ass  would  make  frcc- 
volous  objections  V 

The  Laird  laughed  aloud. 

"  It  was  that  crayturc,  Johnnie  Guthrie,"  said  he,  "  as  usual ! 
I  am  not  sure  that  I  have  mentioned  his  name  to  ye  before." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  think  so,  sir,"  remarked  Miss  Avon. 

"  It  was  that  crayture,  Johnnie  Guthrie — in  the  face  of  the 
unanimous  report  of  the  whole  six  clerks !  Why,  what  could  be 
more  reasonable  than  that  the  lighting  of  closes  and  common 
stairs  should  fall  on  the  landlords,  but  with  power  to  recover 
from  the  tenants  ;  while  the  cleansing  of  back  courts — being  a 
larger  and  more  general  measure  —  should  be  the  work  of  the 
Commissioners,  and  chargeable  in  the  police  rates  ?  It  is  a  great 
sanitary  work,  that  benefits  every  one  ;  why  should  not  all  have  a 
hand  in  paying  for  it  ?" 

Miss  Avon  was  understood  to  assent;  but  the  fact  was  that  the 
small  portion  of  her  face  left  uncovered  by  her  hood  had  just 
then  received  an  unexpected  bath  of  salt-water  ;  and  she  had  to 
halt  for  a  moment  to  get  out  a  handkerchief  from  some  sub- 
ulsterian  recess. 

"  Well,  continued  the  Laird,  as  they  resumed  their  walk, "  what 
does  this  body  Guthrie  do  but  rise  and  propose  that  the  land- 
lords— mind  ye,  the  landlords  alone — should  be  rated  for  the  ex- 
pense of  cleaning  the  back  courts !  I  declare  there  are  some  folk 
seem  to  think  that  a  landlord  is  made  of  nothing  but  money,  and 
that  it  is  everybody's  business  to  harry  him,  and  worry  him,  and 
screw  every  farthing  out  of  him.  If  Johnnie  Guthrie  had  half 
a  dozen  lands  of  houses  himself,  what  would  he  say  about  the 
back  courts  then  ?" 

This  triumphant  question  settled  the  matter;  and  we  hailed  the 
Laird  below  for  luncheon.  Our  last  glance  round  showed  us  the 
Atlantic  of  a  silvery  gray,  and  looking  particularly  squally  ;  with 
here  and  there  a  gleam  of  pale  sunshine  falling  on  the  long  head- 
land of  Ardnamurchan. 

There  was  evidently  some  profound  secret  about. 

"  Well,  ma'am,  and  where  will  we  get  to  the  night,  do  ye 
think?"  said  the  Laird,  cheerfully,  as  he  proceeded  to  carve  a 
cold  fowl. 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence,"  said  the  other,  with  equal  careless- 
ness.    "  You  know  we  must  idle  away  a  few  days  somewhere." 


316  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

-  Idle  away  a  few  da^'s? — and  this  White  Dove  bent  on  a  voy- 
age to  the  far  north  when  the  very  Last  of  the  yachts  were  fleeing 
south  ? 

"I  mean,"  said  she,  hastily,  in  order  to  retrieve  her  blunder, 
*'  that  Captain  John  is  not  likely  to  go  far  away  from  the  chance 
of  a  harbor  until  he  sees  whether  this  is  the  beginning  of  the 
equinoctials  or  not." 

"  The  equinoctials  !"  said  the  Laird,  anxiously. 

"  They  sometimes  begin  as  early  as  this,  but  not  often.  How- 
ever, there  will  always  be  some  place  where  we  can  run  in  to." 

The  equinoctials, indeed!  When  we  went  on  deck  again  we 
found  not  only  that  those  angry  squalls  had  ceased,  but  that  the 
wind  had  veered  very  considerably  in  our  favor,  and  wo  were 
now  running  and  plunging  past  Ardnamurchan  Point.  The  rain 
had  ceased,  too ;  the  clouds  had  gathered  themselves  up  in  heavy 
folds,  and  their  reflected  blackness  lay  over  the  dark  and  heaving 
Atlantic  plain.  Well  was  it  for  these  two  women  that  luncheon 
had  been  taken  in  time.  What  one  of  them  had  dubbed  the 
Ardnamurchan  Wobble — which  she  declared  to  be  as  good  a 
name  for  a  waltz  as  the  Liverpool  Lurch — had  begun  in  good 
earnest ;  and  the  White  Dove  was  dipping,  and  rolling,  and 
springing  in  the  most  lively  fashion.  There  was  not  much 
chance  for  the  Laird  and  Mary  Avon  to  resume  their  promenade. 
When  one  of  the  men  came  aft  to  relieve  John  of  Skye  at  the 
wheel,  he  had  to  watch  his  chance,  and  come  clambering  along 
by  holding  on  to  the  shrouds,  the  rail  of  the  gig,  and  so  forth. 
But  Dr.  Sutherland's  prescription  had  its  eilect.  Despite  the 
Ardnamurchan  Wobble  and  all  its  deeds,  there  was  no  ghostly 
and  silent  disappearance. 

And  so  we  ploughed  on  our  way  during  the  afternoon,  the 
Atlantic  appearing  to  grow  darker  and  darker  as  the  clouds  over- 
head seemed  to  get  banked  up  more  thickly.  The  only  cheerful 
bit  of  light  in  this  gloomy  picture  was  a  streak  or  two  of  sand 
at  the  foot  of  the  sheer  and  rocky  cliflEs  north  of  Ardnamurchan 
Light ;  and  those  we  were  rapidly  leaving  behind  as  the  brisk 
breeze — with  a  kindness  to  which  we  were  wholly  strangers — 
kept  steadily  creeping  round  to  the  south. 

The  dark  evening  wore  on,  and  we  were  getting  well  up  to- 
word  Eigg,  when  a  strange  thing  became  visible  along  the  west- 
ern horizon.     First  the  heavy  purple  clouds  showed  a  tinge  of 


^  SAILING    NORTHWARD.  317 

crimson,  and  then  a  sort  of  yellow  smoke  appeared  close  down  at 
the  sea.  This  golden  vapor  widened,  cleared,  until  there  was  a 
broad  belt  of  lemon-colored  sky  all  along-  the  edge  of  the  world ; 
and  in  this  wonder  of  shining  light  appeared  the  island  of  Rum 
— to  all  appearance  as  transparent  as  a  bit  of  the  thinnest  gela- 
tine, and  in  color  a  light  purple  rose.  It  was  really  a  most  ex- 
traordinary sight.  The  vast  bulk  of  this  mountainous  island, 
including  the  sombre  giants  Haleval  and  Ilaskeval,  seemed  to 
have  less  than  the  consistency  of  a  cathedral  window  ;  it  resem- 
bled more  a  pale,  rose-colored  cloud  ;  and  the  splendor  of  it,  and 
the  glow  of  the  golden  sky  beyond,  were  all  the  more  bewilder- 
ing by  reason  of  the  gloom  of  the  impending  clouds,  that  lay 
across  like  a  black  bar. 

"  Well !"  said  the  Laird — and  here  he  paused,  for  the  amazement 
in  his  face  could  not  at  once  find  fitting  words — "  that  beats  a' !" 

And  it  was  a  cheerful  and  friendly  light,  too,  that  now  came 
streaming  over  to  us  from  beyond  the  horizon-line.  It  touched 
the  sails  and  the  varnished  spars  with  a  pleasant  color.  It  seemed 
to  warm  and  dry  the  air,  and  tempted  the  women  to  put  aside 
their  ulsters.  Then  began  a  series  of  wild  endeavors  to  achieve  a 
walk  on  deck,  interrupted  every  second  or  two  by  some  one  or 
other  being  thrown  against  the  boom,  or  having  to  grasp  at  the 
shrouds  in  passing.  But  it  resulted  in  exercise,  at  all  events ;  and 
meanwhile  we  were  still  making  our  way  northward,  with  the 
yellow  star  of  Isle  Ornsay  light- house  beginning  to  be  visible 
in  the  dusk. 

That  evening  at  dinner  the  secret  came  out.  There  cannot  be 
the  slightest  doubt  that  the  disclosure  of  it  had  been  carefully 
planned  by  these  two  conspirators;  and  that  they  considered 
themselves  amazingly  profound  in  giving  to  it  a  careless  and  im- 
provised air. 

"  I  never  sit  down  to  dinner  now,  ma'am,"  observed  the  Laird, 
in  a  light  and  graceful  manner,  "  without  a  feeling  that  there  is 
something  wanting  in  the  saloon.  The  table  is  not  symmetrical. 
That  should  occur  to  Miss  Mary's  eye  at  once.  One  at  the  head, 
one  my  side,  two  yours ;  no,  that  is  not  as  svmmetrical  as  it  used 
to  be." 

"Do  you  think  I  do  not  feel  that,  too?"  says  his  hostess. 
"And  that  is  not  the  only  time  at  which  I  wish  that  Angus  were 
back  with  us." 

15* 


318  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance.         ■* 

No  one  Lad  a  word  to  say  for  poor  Howard  Smith,  wlio  used 
to  sit  at  the  foot  of  the  table,  in  a  meek  and  helpful  capacity. 
No  one  thought  of  summoning  him  back  to  make  the  arrange- 
ment symmetrical.  Perhaps  he  was  being  consoled  by  Messrs. 
Hughes,  Barnes  &  Barnes. 

"  And  the  longer  the  nights  are  growing,  I  get  to  miss  him 
more  and  more,"  she  says,  with  a  beautiful  pathos  in  her  look. 
"  He  was  always  so  full  of  activity  and  cheerfulness — the  way  he 
enjoyed  life  on  board  the  yacht  was  quite  infectious,  and  then  his 
constant  plans  and  suggestions.  And  how  he  looked  forward  to 
this  long  trip !  though,  to  be  sure,  he  struggled  hard  against  the 
temptation.  I  know  the  least  thing  would  have  turned  the  scale 
— Italy  or  no  Italy." 

"Why,  ma'am,"  says  the  Laird,  laughing  prodigiously,  "I 
should  not  wonder,  if  you  sent  him  a  message  at  this  minute,  to 
find  him  coming  along  post-haste  and  joining  us,  after  all.  What 
is  Eetaly  ?  I  have  been  in  Eetaly  myself.  Ye  might  live  there 
a  hundred  years  and  never  see  anything  so  fine  in  color  as  that 
sunset  we  saw  this  very  evening.  And  if  it  is  business  he  is  af- 
ter, bless  me !  cannot  a  young  man  be  a  young  man  sometimes, 
and  have  the  courage  to  do  something  imprudent  ?  Come  now, 
write  to  him  at  once :  I  will  take  the  responsibility  myself." 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  sir,"  said  the  other,  timidly — but  she 
pretends  she  is  very  anxious  about  the  safety  of  a  certain  distant 
wineglass — "  I  took  a  sudden  notion  into  my  head  yesterday 
morning,  and  sent  him  a  message." 

"  Dear  me  !"  he  cries.     The  hypocrite  ! 

And  Mary  Avon  all  the  while  sits  mute,  dismayed,  not  daring 
to  turn  her  face  to  the  light.  And  the  small  white  hand  that 
holds  the  knife — why  docs  it  tremble  so  ? 

"  The  fact  is,"  says  Queen  Titania  carelessly,  just  as  if  she  were 
reading  a  bit  out  of  a  newspaper,  "  I  sent  him  a  telegram,  to  save 
time.  And  I  thought  it  would  be  more  impressive  if  I  made  it 
a  sort  of  round-robin,  don't  you  know — as  far  as  that  can  be  done 
on  a  square  telegraph  form — and  I  said  that  each  and  all  of  us 
demanded  his  instant  return,  and  that  we  should  wait  about  Isle 
Ornsay  or  Loch  Hourn  until  lie  joined  us.  So  you  sec,  sir,  we 
may  have  to  try  your  patience  for  a  day  or  two." 

"Ye  may  try  it,  but  ye  will  not  find  it  wanting,"  said  the  Laird, 
with  serious  courtesy.     "  1  do  not  care  how  long  I  wait  for  the 


IN    FAIRY-LAND.  319 

young  man,  so  long  as  I  am  in  sucli  pleasant  society.  Ye  forget, 
ma'am,  what  life  one  is  obliged  to  live  at  Denny-mains,  with 
public  affairs  worrying  one  from  the  morning  till  the  night.  Pa- 
tience? I  have  plenty  of  patience.  But  all  the  same,  I  would 
like  to  see  the  young  man  here.  I  have  a  great  respect  for  him, 
though  I  consider  that  some  of  his  views  may  not  be  quite  sound 
— that  will  mend — that  will  mend  ;  and  now,  my  good  friends,  I 
will  take  leave  to  propose  a  toast  to  ye." 

We  knew  the  Laird's  old-fashioned  ways,  and  had  grown  to 
humor  them.     There  was  a  pretence  of  solemnly  filling  glasses. 

"  I  am  going,"  said  the  Laird,  in  a  formal  manner,  "  to  propose 
to  ye  the  quick  and  safe  return  of  a  friend.  May  all  good  fort- 
une attend  him  on  his  way,  and  may  happiness  await  him  at  the 
end  of  his  journey  !" 

There  was  no  dissentient ;  but  there  was  one  small  white  hand 
somewhat  unsteady,  as  the  girl,  abashed  and  trembling  and  silent, 
touched  the  glass  with  her  lips. 


CHAPTER  XLIIL 

IN    FAIRY-LAND. 

It  was  a  fine  piece  of  acting.  These  two  continued  to  talk 
about  the  coming  of  our  young  doctor  as  if  it  were  the  most 
simple  and  ordinary  affair  possible.  All  its  bearings  were  discuss- 
ed openly,  to  give  you  to  understand  that  Mary  Avon  had  noth- 
ing in  the  world  to  do  with  it.  It  was  entirely  a  practical  ar- 
rangement for  the  saving  of  time.  By  running  across  to  Paris 
he  would  jump  over  the  interval  between  our  leaving  West  Loch 
Turbert  and  this  present  setting-out  for  the  north.  Mary  Avon 
was  asked  about  this  point  and  that  point :  there  was  no  reason 
why  she  should  not  talk  about  Angus  Sutherland  just  like  any 
other. 

And,  indeed,  there  was  little  call  for  any  pale  apprehension  on 
the  face  of  the  girl,  or  for  any  quick  look  round  v.hen  a  sudden 
sound  was  heard.  It  was  not  possible  for  Angus  to  be  anywhere 
in  our  neighborhood  as  yet.  When  we  went  on  deck  next  morn- 
ing, we  found  that  we  had  been  idly  drifting  about  all  night,  and 
that  we  were  now  far  away  from  any  land.     The  morning  sun 


320  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

was  shining  on  the  dark-green  woods  of  Armadale,  and  on  the 
little  white  sharp  point  of  Isle  Ornsay  light-house,  and  on  the 
vast  heather-purpled  hills  in  the  north ;  while  over  there  the  moun- 
tains above  Loch  Hourn  were  steeped  in  a  soft  mysterious  shad- 
ow. And  then,  by-and-by,  after  breakfast,  some  light  puffs  of 
westerly  wind  began  to  ruffle  the  glassy  surface  of  the  sea ;  and 
the  White  Dove  almost  insensibly  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  the 
entrance  of  that  winding  loch  that  disappeared  away  within  the 
dusky  shadows  of  those  overhanging  hills.  Late  on  as  it  was  in 
the  autumn,  the  sun  was  hot  on  the  sails  and  the  deck ;  and  these 
cool  breezes  were  welcome  in  a  double  sense. 

We  saw  nothing  of  the  accustomed  gloom  of  Loch  Hourn. 
The  sheer  sides  of  the  great  mountains  were  mostly  in  shadow, 
it  is  true;  but  then  the  ridges  and  plateaus  were  burning  in  the 
sunlight ;  and  the  waters  of  the  loch  around  us  were  blue,  and 
lapping,  and  cheerful.  We  knew  only  that  the  place  was  vast, 
and  still,  and  silent;  we  could  make  out  scarcely  any  sign  of 
habitation. 

Then,  as  the  White  Dove  still  glided  on  her  way,  we  opened 
out  a  little  indentation  of  the  land  behind  an  island ;  and  there, 
nestled  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  we  descried  a  small  fishing-village. 
The  cottages,  the  nets  drying  on  the  poles,  the  tiny  patches  of 
cultivated  ground  behind,  all  seemed  quite  toy-like  against  the 
giant  and  overhanging  bulk  of  the  hills.  But  again  we  drew 
away  from  Camus  Ban — that  is,  the  White  Bay — and  got  farther 
and  farther  into  the  solitudes  of  the  mountains,  and  away  from 
any  traces  of  human  life.  When  about  mid -day  we  came  to 
anchor,  we  found  ourselves  in  a  sort  of  cup  within  the  hills,  ap- 
parently shut  off  from  all  the  outer  world,  and  in  a  stillness  so 
intense  that  the  distant  whistle  of  a  curlew  was  quite  startling. 
A  breath  of  wind  that  blew  over  from  the  shore  brought  us  a 
scent  of  honeysuckle. 

At  luncheon  we  found  to  our  amazement  that  a  fifth  seat  had 
been  placed  at  table,  and  that  plates,  glasses,  and  what  not  liad 
been  laid  for  a  guest.  A  guest  in  these  wilds? — there  was  not 
much  chance  of  such  a  thing,  unless  the  King  of  the  Seals  or  the 
Queen  of  the  Mermaids  were  to  come  on  board. 

But  when  we  had  taken  our  scats,  and  were  still  regarding  the 
vacant  chair  with  some  curiosity,  the  Laird's  hostess  was  pleased 
to  explain.     She  said  to  him,  with  a  shy  smile. 


IN    FAIRY-LAND.  321 

"I  have  not  forgotten  what  you  said;  and  I  quite  agree  with 
you  that  it  balances  the  table  better." 

"  But  not  an  empty  chair,"  said  the  Laird,  severely,  perhaps 
thinking  it  was  an  evil  omen. 

"  You  know  the  German  song,"  said  she,  "  and  how  the  last 
remaining  of  the  comrades  filled  the  glasses  with  wine,  and  how 
the  ghosts  rattled  the  glasses.  Would  you  kindly  fill  that  glass, 
sir  ?" 

She  passed  the  decanter. 

"  I  will  not,  begging  your  pardon,"  said  the  Laird,  sternly,  for 
he  did  not  approve  of  these  superstitions.  And  forthwith  he 
took  the  deck-chair  and  doubled  it  up,  and  threw  it  on  the  couch. 
"  We  want  the  young  man  Sutherland  here,  and  not  any  ghost. 
I  doubt  not  but  that  he  has  reached  London  by  now." 

After  that  a  dead  silence.  Were  there  any  calculations  about 
time  ?  or  were  we  wondering  whether,  amidst  the  roar  and  w  hirl 
and  moving  life  of  the  great  city,  he  was  thinking  of  the  small 
floating-home  far  away,  amidst  the  solitude  of  the  seas  and  the 
hills?  The  deck-chair  was  put  aside,  it  is  true,  for  the  Laird 
shrunk  from  superstition ;  but  the  empty  glass,  and  the  plates 
and  knives,  and  so  forth,  remained  ;  and  they  seemed  to  say  that 
our  expected  guest  was  drawing  nearer  and  nearer. 

"  Well,  John,"  said  Queen  Titania,  getting  on  deck  again,  and 
looking  round,  "  I  think  we  have  got  into  Fairy-land  at  last." 

John  of  Skye  did  not  seem  quite  to  understand,  for  his  answer 
was, 

"  Oh  yes,  mem  ;  it  is  a  fearful  place  for  squahls." 

"  For  squalls  !  said  she. 

No  wonder  she  was  surprised.  The  sea  around  us  was  so 
smooth  that  the  only  motion  visible  on  it  was  caused  by  an  ex- 
hausted wasp  that  had  fallen  on  the  glassy  surface,  and  was  mak- 
ing a  series  of  small  ripples  in  trying  to  get  free  again.  And 
then,  could  anything  be  more  soft  and  beautiful  than  the  scene 
around  us  —  the  great  mountains  clad  to  the  summit  with  the 
light  foliage  of  the  birch ;  silver  water-falls  that  made  a  vague 
murmur  in  the  air;  an  island  right  ahead  with  picturesquely 
wooded  rocks ;  an  absolutely  cloudless  sky  above- — altogether  a 
wonder  of  sunlight  and  fair  colors?  Squalls  !  The  strange  thing 
was,  not  that  we  had  ventured  into  a  region  of  unruly  winds, 
but  that  we  had  got  enouo;h  wind  to  brintr  us  in  at  all.     There 


322  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

was  now  not  even  enough  to  bring  us  tlie  scent  of  honeysuckle 
from  the  shore. 

In  the  afternoon  we  set  out  on  an  expedition,  nominally  after 
wild-duck,  but  in  reality  in  exploration  of  the  upper  reaches  of 
the  loch.  We  found  a  narrow  channel  between  the  island  and 
the  main-land,  and  penetrated  into  the  calm  and  silent  waters  of 
Loch  Hourn  Beg.  And  still  less  did  this  offshoot  of  the  larger 
loch  accord  with  that  gloomy  name — the  Lake  of  Ilell.  Even 
where  the  mountains  were  bare  and  forbidding,  the  warm  even- 
ing light  touched  the  granite  with  a  soft  rose-gray ;  and  reflec- 
tions of  this  beautiful  color  were  here  and  there  visible  amidst  the 
clear  blue  of  the  water.  We  followed  the  windings  of  the  nar- 
row and  tortuous  loch,  but  found  no  wild -duck  at  all.  Here 
and  there  a  seal  stared  at  us  as  we  passed.  Then  we  found  a 
crofter's  cottage  and  landed,  to  the  consternation  of  one  or  two 
handsome  wild-eyed  children.  A  purchase  of  eggs  ensued,  after 
much  voluble  Gaelic.     We  returned  to  the  yacht. 

That  evening,  as  w'e  sat  on  deck,  watching  the  first  stars  be- 
ginning to  tremble  in  the  blue,  some  one  called  attention  to  a 
singular  light  that  was  beginning  to  appear  along  the  summits 
of  the  mountains  just  over  us — a  silvery-gray  light,  that  showed 
us  the  soft  foliage  of  the  birches,  while  below  the  steep  slopes 
grew  more  sombre  as  the  night  fell.  And  then  we  guessed  that 
the  moon  was  somewhere  on  the  other  side  of  the  loch,  as  yet 
hidden  from  us  by  those  black  crags  that  pierced  into  the  calm 
blue  vault  of  the  sky.  This  the  Lake  of  Hell,  indeed !  By-and- 
by  we  saw  the  silver  rim  appear  above  the  black  line  of  the  hills ; 
and  a  pale  glory  was  presently  shining  around  us,  particularly 
noticeable  along  the  varnished  spars.  As  the  white  moon  sailed 
up,  this  solitary  cup  in  the  mountains  was  filled  with  the  clear 
radiance,  and  the  silence  seemed  to  increase.  We  could  hear 
more  distinctly  than  ever  the  various  water-falls.  The  two  women 
were  walking  up  and  down  the  deck ;  and  each  time  that  Mary 
Avon  turned  her  profile  to  the  liglit  the  dark  eyebrows  and  dark 
eyelashes  seemed  darker  than  ever  against  the  pale,  sensitive, 
sweet  face. 

But  after  awhile  she  gently  disengaged  herself  from  her 
friend,  and  came  and  sat  down  by  the  Laird,  quite  mutely,  and 
waiting  for  him  to  speak.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  she  had 
been  in  any  way  more  demonstrative  toward  him  since  his  great 


IN    FAIRY-LAND,  323 

act  of  kindness ;  or  tliat  tliere  was  any  need  for  liim  to  have  pur- 
chased her  aflEection.  That  was  of  older  date.  Perhaps,  if  the 
truth  were  told,  slie  was  ratlier  less  demonstrative  now  ;  for  we 
had  all  discovered  that  the  Laird  had  a  nervous  horror  of  any- 
thing that  seemed  to  imply  a  recognition  of  what  lie  had  done. 
It  was  merely,  he  had  told  us,  a  certain  wrong  thing  he  had  put 
right ;  there  was  no  more  to  be  said  about  it. 

However,  her  coming  and  sitting  down  by  him  was  no  unusual 
circumstance ;  and  she  meekly  left  him  his  own  choice,  to  speak 
to  her  or  not  as  he  pleased.     And  he  did  speak — after  a  time. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  he,  "  what  a  strange  feeling  ye  get  in 
living  on  board  a  yacht  in  these  wilds :  it  is  just  as  if  ye  were 
the  only  craytures  in  the  world.  "Would  ye  not  think,  now,  that 
the  moon  there  belonged  to  this  circle  of  hills,  and  could  not  be 
seen  by  any  one  outside  it?  It  looks  as  if  it  were  coming  close 
to  the  top-mast :  how  can  ye  believe  that  it  is  shining  over  Tra- 
falgar Square  in  London  ?" 

"  It  seems  very  close  to  us  on  so  clear  a  night,"  says  Mary 
Avon. 

"And  in  a  short  time,  now,"  continued  the  Laird,  "this  little 
world  of  ours — I  mean  the  little  company  on  board  the  yacht — 
must  be  dashed  into  fragments,  as  it  were ;  and  ye  will  be  away 
in  London,  and  I  will  be  at  Denny-mains ;  and  who  knows  wheth- 
er we  may  ever  see  each  other  again  ?  We  must  not  grumble. 
It  is  the  fate  of  the  best  friends.  But  there  is  one  grand  conso- 
lation— think  what  a  consolation  it  must  have  been  to  many  of 
the  poor  people  who  were  driven  away  from  these  Highlands  to 
Canada,  and  Australia,  and  elsewhere — that  after  all  the  partings 
and  sorrows  of  this  world  there  is  the  great  meeting-place  at  last. 
I  would  just  ask  this  favor  frae  ye,  my  lass,  that  when  ye  go  back 
to  London  ye  would  get  a  book  of  our  old  Scotch  psalm-tunes, 
and  learn  the  tune  that  is  called  Comfort.  It  begins, '  Take  com- 
fort. Christians,  when  your  friends.'  It  is  a  grand  tune  that  :  I 
would  like  ye  to  learn  it." 

"  Oh,  certainly  I  will,"  said  the  girl. 

"And  I  have  been  thinking,"  continued  the  Laird,  "that  I 
would  get  Tom  Galbraith  to  make  ye  a  bit  sketch  of  Denny- 
mains,  that  ye  might  hang  up  in  London,  if  ye  were  so  minded. 
It  would  show  ye  what  the  place  was  like ;  and  after  some  years 
ye  might  begin  to  believe  that  ye  really  had  been  there,  and 


324  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  romance. 

that  ye  were  familiar  with  it,  as  the  home  of  an  old  friend  o' 
youi's," 

"  But  I  hope  to  see  Denny-mains  for  myself,  sir,"  said  she, 
with  some  surprise. 

A  quick,  strange  look  appeared  for  a  moment  on  the  old  Laird's 
face.     But  presently  he  said, 

"  No,  no,  lass,  ye  will  have  other  interests  and  other  duties. 
That  is  but  proper  and  natural.  How  would  the  world  get  on  at 
all  if  we  were  not  to  be  dragged  here  and  there  by  diverse  occu- 
pations ?" 

Then  the  girl  sjjoke,  proudly  and  bravely — 

"  And  if  I  have  any  duties  in  the  world,  I  think  I  know  to 
whom  I  owe  them.  And  it  is  not  a  duty  at  all,  but  a  great 
pleasure ;  and  you  promised  me,  sir,  that  I  was  to  see  Denny- 
mains  ;  and  I  wish  to  pay  you  a  long,  long,  long  visit." 

"A  long,  long,  long  visit?"  said  the  Laird,  cheerfully.  "No, 
no,  lass,  I  just  couldna  be  bothered  with  ye.  Ye  would  be  in 
my  way.  What  interest  could  ye  take  ii;  our  parish  meetings, 
and  the  church  soirees,  and  the  like  ?  No,  no.  But  if  ye  like  to 
pay  me  a  short,  short,  short  visit  at  your  own  convenience — at 
your  own  convenience,  mind — I  will  get  Tom  Galbraith  through 
from  Edinburgh,  and  I  will  get  out  some  of  the  younger  Glasgow 
men  ;  and  if  we  do  not,  you  and  me,  show  them  something  in  the 
way  of  landscape -sketching  that  will  just  frighten  them  out  of 
their  very  wits,  why  then  I  will  give  ye  leave  to  say  that  my 
name  is  not  Mary  Avon." 

lie  rose  then  and  took  her  hand,  and  began  to  walk  with  her 
up  and  down  the  moonlit  deck.  Wc  heard  something  about  the 
Ilaughs  o'  Cromdale.  The  Laird  was  obviously  not  ill-pleased 
that  she  had  boldly  claimed  that  promised  visit  to  Denny-mains. 


VE    ARE    WELCOME,    GLENOGIE."  325 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

"  YE    ARE    WELCOME,   GLENOGIE." 

When,  after  nearly  three  moiitLs  of  glowing  summer  weather, 
the  heavens  begin  to  look  as  if  tliey  meditated  revenge;  when, 
in  a  dead  calm,  a  darkening  gloom  appears  behind  the  farther 
hills,  and  slight  puffs  of  wind  come  down  vertically,  spreading 
themselves  out  on  the  glassy  water;  when  the  air  is  sultry,  and 
an  occasional  low  rumble  is  heard,  and  the  sun  looks  white — 
then  the  reader  of  these  pages  may  thank  his  stars  that  he  is  not 
in  Loch  Hourn.  And  yet  it  was  not  altogether  our  fault  that 
we  were  nearly  caught  in  this  dangerous  cup  among  the  hills. 
We  had  lain  in  these  silent  and  beautiful  waters  for  two  or  three 
days,  partly  because  of  the  exceeding  loveliness  of  the  place,  part- 
ly because  we  had  to  allow  Angus  time  to  get  up  to  Isle  Ornsay, 
but  chiefly  because  we  had  not  the  option  of  leaving.  To  get 
through  the  narrow  and  shallow  channel  by  which  we  had  enter- 
ed, we  wanted  both  wind  and  tide  in  our  favor ;  and  there  was 
scarcely  a  breath  of  air  during  the  long,  peaceful,  shining  days. 
At  length,  when  our  sovereign  mistress  made  sure  that  the  young 
doctor  must  be  waiting  for  us  at  Isle  Ornsay,  she  informed  Cap- 
tain John  that  he  must  get  us  out  of  this  place  somehow. 

"  'Deed,  I  not  sorry  at  all,"  said  John  of  Skye,  who  had  never 
ceased  to  represent  to  us  that,  in  the  event  of  bad  weather  com- 
ing on,  we  should  find  ourselves  in  the  lion's  jaws. 

Well,  on  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day,  it  became  very  obvi- 
ous that  something  serious  was  about  to  happen.  Clouds  began 
to  bank  up  behind  the  mountains  that  overhung  the  upper  reach- 
es of  the  loch,  and  an  intense  purple  gloom  gradually  spread  along 
those  sombre  hills — all  the  more  intense  that  the  little  island  in 
front  of  us,  crossing  the  loch,  burned  in  the  sunlight  a  vivid  strip 
of  green.  Then  little  puffs  of  wind  fell  here  and  there  on  the 
blue  water,  and  broadened  out  in  a  silvery  gray.  We  noticed 
that  all  the  men  were  on  deck. 


326  WHITE  WINGS  :   a  yachting  romance. 

As  the  strange  darkness  of  the  locli  increased,  as  tliese  vast 
mountains  overhanging  the  inner  cup  of  the  loch  grew  more  and 
more  awful  in  the  gloom,  we  began  to  understand  why  the  Celtic 
imagination  had  called  this  place  the  Lake  of  Hell.  Captain  John 
kept  walking  up  and  down  somewhat  anxiously,  and  occasionally 
looking  at  his  watch.  The  question  was  whether  we  should  get 
enough  wind  to  take  us  through  the  narrows  before  the  tide  turn- 
ed. In  the  mean  time  main-sail  and  jib  were  set,  and  the  anchor 
hove  short. 

At  last  the  welcome  flapping  and  creaking  and  rattling  of 
blocks.  What  although  this  brisk  breeze  came  dead  in  our  teeth? 
John  of  Skye,  as  he  called  all  hands  to  the  windlass,  gave  us  to 
understand  that  he  would  rather  beat  through  the  neck  of  a  bot- 
tle than  lie  in  Loch  Ilourn  that  night. 

And  it  was  an  exciting  piece  of  business  when  we  got  farther 
down  the  loch,  and  approached  this  narrow  passage.  On  the  one 
side  sharp  and  sheer  rocks ;  on  the  other,  shallow  banks  that 
shone  through  the  water ;  behind  us  the  awful  gloom  of  gather- 
ing thunder;  ahead  of  us  a  breeze  that  came  tearing  down  from 
the  hills  in  the  most  puzzling  and  varying  squalls.  With  a  steady 
wind  it  would  have  been  bad  enouo-h  to  beat  throu2;h  those  nar- 
rows ;  but  this  wind  kept  shifting  about  anyhow.  Sharp  was 
the  word,  indeed.  It  was  a  question  of  seconds  as  we  sheered 
away  from  the  rocks  on  the  one  side,  or  from  the  shoals  on  the 
other.     And  then,  amidst  it  all,  a  sudden  cry  from  the  women, 

"John!  John!" 

John  of  Skye  knows  his  business  too  well  to  attend  to  the 
squealing  of  women. 

"Ready  about!"  he  roars;  and  all  hands  are  at  the  sheets,  and 
even  Master  Fred  is  leaning  over  the  bows  to  watch  the  shallow- 
ness of  the  water. 

"John!  John!"  the  w^omen  cry. 

"Haul  up  the  main  tack,  Hector!  Ay,  that  '11  do.  Ready 
about,  boys !" 

But  this  starboard  tack  is  a  little  bit  longer,  and  John  manages 
to  cast  an  impatient  glance  beliind  him.  The  sailor's  eye  in  an 
instant  detects  that  distant  object.  What  is  it?  Why,  surely 
some  one  in  the  stern  of  a  rowing-boat,  standing  up  and  violent- 
ly waving  a  white  handkerchief,  and  two  men  pulling  like  mad 
creatures. 


"ye  are  welcome,  glenouie."  327 

"  Jolin  !  John !  Don't  you  see  it  is  Angus  Sutherland !"  cries 
tlie  older  woman,  pitifully. 

By  this  time  wc  are  going  bang  on  to  a  sand -bank;  and 
the  men,  standing  by  the  sheets,  are  amazed  that  the  skipper 
does  not  put  his  helm  down.  Instead  of  that — and  all  this  hap- 
pens in  an  instant — he  eases  the  helm  up,  and  the  bows  of  the 
yacht  fall  away  from  the  wind,  and  just  clear  the  bank.  Hector 
of  Moidart  jumps  ta  the  main-sheet  and  slacks  it  out,  and  then, 
behold !  the  White  Dove  is  running  free,  and  there  is  a  sudden 
silence  on  board. 

"  Why,  he  must  have  come  over  from  the  Caledonian  Canal !" 
says  Queen  Titania,  in  great  excitement.     "  Oh,  how  glad  I  am  !" 

But  John  of  Skye  takes  advantage  of  this  breathing  space  to 
have  another  glance  at  his  watch. 

"  We'll  maybe  beat  the  tide  yet,"  he  says,  confidently. 

And  who  is  this  who  comes  joyously  clambering  up,  and 
hauls  his  portmanteau  after  him,  and  throws  a  couple  of  half- 
crowns  into  the  bottom  of  the  black  boat  ? 

"  Oh,  Angus,"  his  hostess  cries  to  him,  "  you  will  shake  hands 
with  us  all  afterward.  We  are  in  a  dreadful  strait.  Never  mind 
us — help  John  if  you  can." 

Meanwhile  Captain  John  has  again  put  the  nose  of  the  White 
Dove  at  these  perilous  narrows  ;  and  the  young  doctor — perhaps 
glad  enough  to  escape  embarrassment  among  all  this  clamor — 
has  thrown  his  coat  off  to  help ;  and  the  men  have  got  plenty  of 
anchor-chain  on  deck,  to  let  go  the  anchor  if  necessary;  and 
then  again  begins  that  manoeuvring  between  the  shallows  and  the 
rocks.  What  is  this  new  sense  of  completeness — of  added  life — 
of  briskness  and  gladness?  Why  do  the  men  seem  more  alert? 
and  why  this  cheeriness  in  Captain  John's  shouted  commands? 
The  women  are  no  longer  afraid  of  either  banks  or  shoals ;  they 
rather  enjoy  the  danger;  when  John  seems  determined  to  run 
the  yacht  through  a  mass  of  conglomerate,  they  know  that  with 
the  precision  of  clock-work  she  will  be  off  on  the  other  tack ; 
and  they  are  laughing  at  these  narrow  escapes.  Perhaps  it  would 
be  more  accurate  to  say  that  only  one  of  them  laughs.  Mary 
Avon  is  somewhat  silent,  and  she  holds  her  friend's  hand  tight. 

Tide  or  no  tide,  we  get  through  the  narrow  channel  at  last ; 
and  every  one  breathes  more  freely  when  we  are  in  the  open. 
But  we  are  still  far  from  being  out  of  Loch  Hourn ;  and  now 


328  WHITE  WINGS :   a  yachting  romance. 

tlie  mountains  in  the  south,  too — one  of  thera  apparently  an  ex- 
tinct volcano — have  grown  black  as  thunder;  and  the  wind  that 
comes  down  from  them  in  jerks  and  squalls  threatens  to  plunge 
our  bulwarks  under  water.  How  the  White  Dove  flees  away 
from  this  gathering  gloom  !  Once  or  twice  we  hear  behind  us  a 
roar,  and  turning  we  can  see  a  specially  heavy  squall  tearing 
across  the  loch  ;  but  here  with  us  the  wind  continues  to  keep  a 
little  more  steady,  and  we  go  bowling  along  at  a  welcome  pace. 
Angus  Sutherland  comes  aft,  puts  on  his  coat,  and  makes  his 
formal  entry  into  our  society, 

"You  have  just  got  out  in  time,"  says  he,  laughing  somewliat 
nervously,  to  his  hostess.  "  There  will  be  a  wild  night  in  Loch 
Hourn  to-night." 

"And  the  beautiful  calm  we  have  had  in  there!"  she  says. 
"  We  were  beginning  to  think  that  Loch  Hourn  was  Fairy-land." 

"  Look  !"  he  said. 

And  indeed  the  spectacle  behind  us  was  of  a  nature  to  make 
us  thankful  that  we  had  slipped  out  of  the  lion's  jaws.  The  wa- 
ters of  the  loch  were  being  torn  into  spindrift  by  the  squalls ; 
and  the  black  clouds  overhead  were  being  dragged  into  shreds 
as  if  by  invisible  hands ;  and  in  the  hollows  below  appeared  a 
darkness  as  if  night  had  come  on  prematurely.  And  still  the 
White  Dove  flew  and  flew,  as  if  she  knew  of  the  danger  behind 
her;  and  by -and -by  we  were  plunging  and  racing  across  the 
Sound  of  Sleat.     We  had  seen  the  last  of  Loch  Hourn. 

The  clear  golden  ray  of  Isle  Ornsay  Light-house  was  shining 
through  the  dusk  as  we  made  in  for  the  sheltered  harbor.  We 
had  run  the  dozen  miles  or  so  in  a  little  over  the  hour;  and  now 
dinner-time  had  arrived ;  and  we  were  not  sorry  to  be  in  com- 
paratively smooth  w-ater.  The  men  were  sent  ashore  with  some 
telegram — the  sending  off  of  which  was  the  main  object  of  our 
running  in  here ;  and  then  Master  Fred's  bell  summoned  us  be- 
low from  the  wild  and  windy  night. 

]Iow  rich  and  warm  and  cheerful  was  this  friendly  glow  of  the 
candles,  and  how  compact  the  table  seemed  now,  with  the  vacant 
space  filled  at  last !  And  every  one  api)cared  to  be  talking  liard, 
in  order  to  show  that  Angus  Sutherland's  return  was  a  quite  or- 
dinary and  familiar  thing;  and  the  Laird  was  making  his  jokes; 
and  the  young  doctor  telling  his  hostess  how  he  had  been  send- 
inir  telcirrams  here  and  there  until  he  had  learned  of  the  White 


"ye  are  welcome,  glenogie."  329 

Dove  havin2;  been  seen  going  into  Loch  Hourn.  Even  Miss 
Avon,  though  she  said  but  httle,  shared  in  this  general  excite- 
ment and  pleasure.  We  couhl  hear  her  soft  laughter  from  time 
to  time.  But  her  eyes  were  kept  away  from  the  corner  where 
Angus  Sutherland  sat. 

"  Well,  you  are  lucky  people,"  said  he.  "  If  you  had  missed 
getting  out  of  that  hole  by  half  an  hour,  you  might  have  been 
shut  up  in  it  a  fortnight.  I  believe  a  regular  gale  from  the  south 
has  begun." 

"  It  is  you  who  have  brought  it,  then,"  said  his  hostess.  "  You 
are  the  stormy  petrel.  xVnd  you  did  your  best  to  make  us  miss 
the  tide." 

*'  I  think  we  shall  have  some  sailing  now,"  said  he,  rubbing  his 
hands  in  great  delight — he  pretends  to  be  thinking  only  of  the 
yacht.  "John  talks  of  going  on  to-night,  so  as  to  slip  through 
the  Kyle  Rhea  Narrows  with  the  first  of  the  flood-tide  in  the 
morning." 

"  Going  out  to-night !"  she  exclaimed.  "  Is  it  you  who  have 
put  that  madness  into  his  head  ?  It  must  be  pitch-dark  already. 
And  a  gale  blowing!" 

"  Oh  no,"  he  said,  laughing ;  "  there  is  not  much  of  a  gale. 
And  it  cannot  be  very  dark,  with  the  moon  behind  the  clouds." 

Here  a  noise  above  told  us  the  men  had  come  back  from  the 
small  village.  They  brought  a  telegram,  too,  but  it  was  of  no 
consequence.  Presently — in  fact,  as  soon  as  he  decently  could — 
Angus  left  the  dinner-table,  and  went  on  deck.  He  had  scarcely 
dared  to  glance  at  the  pale,  sensitive  face  opposite  him. 

By-and-by  Queen  Titania,  said,  solemnly, 

"  Listen !" 

There  was  no  doubt  about  it ;  the  men  were  weighing  anchor. 

"That  madman,"  said  she,  "has  persuaded  Captain  John  to  go 
to  sea  again — at  this  time  of  night !" 

"  It  was  Captain  John's  own  wish.  He  wishes  to  catch  the 
tide  in  the  morning,"  observed  Miss  Avon,  with  her  eyes  cast 
down. 

"  That's  right,  my  lass,"  said  the  Laird.  "  Speak  up  for  them 
who  are  absent.  But,  indeed,  I  think  I  will  go  on  deck  myself 
now,  to  see  what's  going  on." 

We  all  went  on  deck,  and  there  and  then  unanimously  passed 
a  vote  of  approval  on  Captain  John's  proceedings,  for  the  wind 


330  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

had  moderated  very  considerably ;  and  there  was  a  pale  suffused 
light  telling  of  the  moon  being  somewhere  behind  the  fleecy 
clouds  in  the  south-east.  With  much  content  we  perceived  that 
the  White  Dove  was  already  moving  out  of  the  dark  little  harbor. 
We  heard  the  rush  of  the  sea  outside  without  much  concern. 

It  was  a  pleasant  sailing  night  after  all.  When  we  had  stolen 
by  the  glare  of  the  solitary  light-house,  and  got  into  the  open, 
we  found  there  was  no  very  heavy  sea  running,  w'hile  there  was  a 
steady,  serviceable  breeze  from  the  south.  There  was  moonlight 
abroad,  too,  though  the  moon  was  mostly  invisible  behind  the 
thin  drifting  clouds.  The  women,  wrapped  up,  sat  hand  in 
hand,  and  chatted  to  each  other ;  the  doctor  was  at  the  tiller ; 
the  Laird  was  taking  an  occasional  turn  up  and  down,  sometimes 
pausing  to  challenge  general  attention  by  some  profound  remark. 

And  very  soon  we  began  to  perceive  that  Angus  Sutlierland 
had  by  some  inscrutable  means  got  into  the  Laird's  good  graces 
in  a  most  marked  degree.  Denny-mains,  on  this  particular  night, 
as  we  sailed  away  northward,  was  quite  complimentary  about  the 
march  of  modern  science,  and  the  service  done- to  humanity  by 
scientific  men.  He  had  not  even  an  ill  word  for  the  "  Vestiges 
of  Creation."  He  went  the  length  of  saying  that  he  was  not 
scholar  enough  to  deny  that  there  might  be  various  ways  of  in- 
terpreting the  terms  of  the  Mosaic  chronology ;  and  expressed  a 
great  interest  in  the  terribly  remote  people  who  must  have  lived 
in  the  lake-dwellings. 

"Oh,  don't  you  believe  that,"  said  our  steersman,  good-nat- 
uredly. "  The  scicntifics  are  only  humbugging  the  public  about 
those  lake-dwellings.  They  were  only  the  bath-houses  and  wash- 
houses  of  a  comparatively  modern  and  civilized  race,  just  as  you 
see  them  now  on  the  Lake  of  a  Thousand  Islands,  and  at  tlic 
mouths  of  the  Amazon,  and  even  on  the  Rhine.  Surely  you 
know  the  bath-houses  built  on  piles  on  the  Rhine?" 

"  Dear  me !"  said  the  Laird,  "  that  is  extremely  interesting. 
Tt  is  a  novel  view — a  most  novel  view.  But  then  the  remains — 
what  of  the  remains  ?  The  earthen  cups  and  platters :  they  must 
have  belonged  to  a  very  precmitivc  race?" 

"  Not  a  bit,"  said  the  profound  scientific  authority,  with  a 
laugh.  "  They  were  the  things  the  children  amused  themselves 
with  when  their  nurses  took  them  down  there  to  be  out  of  the 
heat  and  the  dust.     They  were  a  very  advanced  race  indeed. 


"ye  are  welcome,  glenogie."  331 

Even  the  children  could  make  earthen  cups  and  saucers,  while 
the  children  nowada3^s  can  only  make  mud-pies," 

"  Don't  believe  him,  sir,"  their  hostess  called  out ;  "  he  is  only 
making  a  fool  of  us  all." 

"  Ay,  but  there's  something  in  it — there's  something  in  it," 
said  the  Laird,  seriously ;  and  he  took  a  step  or  two  up  and 
down  the  deck  in  deep  meditation.  "  There's  something  in  it. 
It's  plausible.  If  it  is  not  sound,  it  is  an  argument.  It  would 
be  a  good  stick  to  break  over  an  ignorant  man's  head." 

Suddenly  the  Laird  began  to  laugh  aloud. 

"  Bless  me,"  said  he,  "  if  I  could  only  inveigle  Johnny  Guthrie 
into  an  argument  about  that !  I  would  give  it  him  !  I  would 
give  it  him !" 

This  was  a  shocking  revelation.  What  had  come  over  the 
Laird's  conscience,  that  he  actually  proposed  to  inveigle  a  poor 
man  into  a  controversy,  and  then  to  hit  him  over  the  head  with 
a  sophistical  argument?  We  could  not  have  believed  it.  And 
here  he  was  laughing  and  chuckling  to  himself  over  that  shame- 
ful scheme. 

Our  attention,  however,  was  at  this  moment  suddenly  drawn 
away  from  moral  questions.  The  rapidly  driving  clouds  just 
over  the  wild  mountains  of  Loch  Hourn  parted,  and  the  moon 
glared  out  on  the  tumbling  waves.  But  what  a  curious  moon 
it  was ! — pale  and  watery,  with  a  white  halo  around  it,  and  with 
another  faintly  colored  halo  outside  that  again  whenever  the 
slight  and  vapory  clouds  crossed,     John  of  Skye  came  aft. 

"  I  not  like  the  look  of  that  moon,"  said  John  of  Skye  to  the 
doctor,  but  in  an  undertone  so  that  the  women  should  not  hear. 

"  Nor  I  either,"  said  the  other,  in  an  equally  low  voice.  "  Do 
you  think  we  are  going  to  have  the  equinoctials,  John  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  not  yet.     It  not  the  time  for  the  equinoctials  yet." 

And  as  we  crept  on  through  the  night,  now  and  again,  from 
amidst  the  wild  and  stormy  clouds  above  Loch  Hourn,  the  wan 
moon  still  shone  out ;  and  then  we  saw  something  of  the  silent 
shores  we  were  passing,  and  of  the  awful  mountains  overhead, 
stretching  far  into  the  darkness  of  the  skies.  Then  preparations 
were  made  for  coming  to  anchor ;  and  by-and-by  the  White  Dove 
was  brought  round  to  the  wind.  We  were  in  a  bay — if  bay  it 
could  be  called — just  south  of  Kyle  Rhea  Narrows.  There  was 
nothing  visible  along  the  pale  moonlit  shore. 


332  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

"  This  is  a  very  open  place  to  anchor  in,  John,"  our  young 
doctor  ventured  to  remark. 

"But  it  is  a  good  holding  ground;  and  we  will  be  away  early 
in  the  morning  whatever." 

And  so,  when  the  anchor  was  s\Yung  out  and  quiet  restored 
over  the  vessel,  we  proceeded  to  get  below.  There  were  a  great 
many  things  to  be  handed  down,  and  a  careful  search  had  to  be 
made  that  nothing  was  forgotten :  we  did  not  want  to  find  soak- 
ed shawls  or  books  lying  on  the  deck  in  the  morning.  But  at 
length  all  this  was  settled  too,  and  we  were  assembled  once  more 
in  the  saloon. 

We  were  assembled — all  but  two. 

"  Where  is  Miss  Mary  ?"  said  the  Laird,  cheerfully :  he  was  al- 
ways the  first  to  miss  his  companion. 

"  Perhaps  she  is  in  her  cabin,"  said  his  hostess,  somewhat  ner- 
vously. 

"  And  your  young  doctor — why  does  he  not  come  down  and 
have  his  glass  of  toddy  like  a  man  ?"  said  the  Laird,  getting  his 
own  tumbler.  -  "  The  young  men  nowadays  are  just  as  frighten- 
ed as  children.  What  with  their  chemistiy,  and  their  tubes,  and 
their  percentages  of  alcohol — there  was  none  of  that  nonsense 
when  I  was  a  young  man.  People  took  what  they  liked,  so  long 
as  it  agreed  with  them ;  and  will  anybody  tell  me  there  is  any 
harm  in  a  glass  of  good  Scotch  whiskey  ?" 

She  does  not  answer;  she  looks  somewhat  preoccupied  and 
anxious. 

"Ay,  ay,"  continues  the  Laird,  reaching  over  for  the  sugar; 
"  if  people  would  only  stop  there,  there  is  nothing  in  the  world 
makes  such  an  excellent  nightcap  as  a  single  glass  of  good  Scotch 
whiskey.  Now,  ma'am,  I  will  just  beg  you  to  try  half  a  glass  of 
my  brewing." 

She  pays  no  attention  to  him ;  for,  first  of  all,  she  now  hears 
a  light  step  on  the  companion- way,  and  then  the  door  of  the 
ladies'  cabin  is  opened,  and  shut  again  ;  then  a  heavy  step  on 
the  companion -way,  and  Dr.  Sutherland  comes  into  the  saloon. 
There  is  a  strange  look  on  his  face — not  of  dejection ;  but  he 
tries  to  be  very  reticent  and  modest,  and  is  inordinately  eager  in 
handing  a  knife  to  the  Laird  for  the  cutting  of  a  lemon. 

"  Where  is  Mary,  Angus?"  said  his  hostess,  looking  at  liim. 

"  She  has  gone  into  your  cabin,"  said  he,  looking  up  with  a 


"  YE    ARE    WELCOME,   GLENOGIE."  333 

sort  of  wistful  appeal  in  his  eyes.  As  plainly  as  possible  they 
said,  "  Won't  you  go  to  her  ?" 

The  unspoken  request  was  instantly  answered ;  she  got  up  and 
quietly  left  the  saloon. 

"  Come,  lad,"  said  the  Laird.  "  Are  ye  afraid  to  try  a  glass  of 
Scotch  whiskey  ?  You  chemical  men  know  too  much :  it  is  not 
wholesome ;  and  you  a  Scotchman,  too.     Take  a  glass,  man !" 

"Twelve,  if  you  like,"  said  the  doctor,  laughing ;  "  but  one  will 
do  for  my  purpose.  I'm  going  to  follow  your  example,  sir;  I 
am  going  to  propose  a  toast.     It  is  a  good  old  custom." 

This  was  a  proposal  after  the  Laird's  own  heart.  He  insisted 
on  the  women  being  summoned ;  and  they  came.  He  took  no 
notice  that  Mary  Avon  was  rose-red,  and  downcast  of  face,  and 
that  the  elder  woman  held  her  hand  tightly,  and  had  obviously 
been  crying  a  little  bit — not  tears  of  sorrow.  When  they  were 
seated,  he  handed  each  a  glass.  Then  he  called  for  silence,  wait- 
ing to  hear  our  doctor  make  a  proper  and  courtly  speech  about 
his  hostess,  or  about  the  White  Dove,  or  John  of  Skye,  or  any- 
thing. 

But  what  must  have  been  the  Laird's  surprise  when  he  found 
that  it  was  his  own  health  that  was  being  proposed !  And  that 
not  in  the  manner  of  the  formal  oratory  that  the  Laird  admired, 
but  in  a  very  simple  and  straightforward  speech  that  had  just  a 
touch  of  personal  and  earnest  feeling  in  it.  For  the  young  doc- 
tor spoke  of  the  long  days  and  nights  we  had  spent  together,  far 
away  from  human  ken  ;  and  how  intimately  associated  people 
became  on  board  ship;  and  how  thoroughly  one  could  learn  to 
know  and  love  a  particular  character  through  being  brought  into 
such  close  relationship.  And  he  said  that  friendships  thus  form- 
ed in  a  week  or  a  month  might  last  for  a  lifetime.  And  he  could 
not  say  much,  before  the  very  face  of  the  Laird,  about  all  those 
qualities  which  had  gained  for  him  something  more  than  our 
esteem — qualities  especially  valuable  on  board  ship — good-humor, 
patience,  courtesy,  light-hearted ness — 

"  Bless  me !"  cried  the  Laird,  interrupting  the  speaker,  in  de- 
fiance of  all  the  laws  that  govern  public  oratory,  "  I  maun  stop 
this — I  maun  stop  this.  Are  ye  all  come  together  to  make  fun 
of  me — eh  ?     Have  a  care — hav.e  a  care  !" 

He  looked  round  threateningly ;  and  his  eye  lighted  with  a 
darker  warning  on  Mary  Avon. 


334  WHITE    WINGS  :     a    YACHTINa    ROMANCE. 

*'  That  lass,  too,"  said  lie ;  "  and  I  thought  her  a  friend  of 
mine ;  and  she  has  come  to  make  a  fool  of  me  like  the  rest ! 
And  so  ye  want  to  make  me  the  Homesh  o'  this  boat?  Well,  I 
may  be  a  foolish  old  man  ;  but  ray  eyes  are  open.  I  know  what 
is  going  on.     Come  here,  my  lass,  until  I  tell  ye  something." 

Mary  Avon  went  and  took  the  seat  next  him,  and  he  put  his 
hand  gently  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Young  people  will  have  their  laugh  and  their  joke,"  said  he. 

"  It  was  no  joke  at  all,"  said  she,  warmly. 

"  Whisht,  now.  I  say  young  people  will  have  their  laugh  and 
their  joke  at  a  foolish  old  man  ;  and  who  is  to  prevent  them  ?  Not 
me.  But  I'll  tell  ye  what :  ye  may  have  your  sport  of  me,  on 
one  condition," 

He  patted  her  once  or  twice  on  the  shoulder,  just  as  if  she  was 
a  child. 

"  And  the  condition  is  this,  my  lass — that  ye  have  the  wedding 
at  Denny-mains." 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

THE    EQUINOCTIALS    AT    LAST. 


There  was  no  dreaming  of  weddings  at  Denny-mains,  or  else- 
where, for  some  of  us  that  night.  It  had  been  blowing  pretty 
hard  when  we  turned  in ;  but  toward  two  or  three  o'clock  the 
wind  increased  to  half  a  gale,  while  heavy  showers  kept  rattling 
along  the  decks.  Then  there  were  other  sounds.  One  of  the 
men  was  heard  to  clamber  up  the  iron  ladder  of  the  forecastle; 
and  as  soon  as  he  had  put  his  head  out,  his  contented  exclamation 
was,  "  Oh,  ferry  well ;  go  on  !"  Then  he  came  below,  and  roused 
his  companions;  presently  there  was  a  loud  commotion  on  deck. 
This  was  enough  for  our  doctor.  One  could  hear  him  rapidly 
dressing  in  his  little  state-room  ;  then  staggering  througli  the 
saloon — for  the  wind  was  knocking  about  the  White  Dove  con- 
siderably ;  then  groping  his  way  up  the  dark  companion.  For 
some  time  there  was  a  fine  turmoil  going  on  above.  Another 
anchor  was  thrown  nut.  The  gig  and  dingey  were  brought  in  on 
dock.  All  the  skylights  were  fastened  down,  and  the  tarpaulins 
put  over.     Then  a  woman's  voice : 


THE    EQUINOCTIALS    AT    LAST.  335 

"Angus!  Angus!" 

The  doctor  came  tumbling  down  the  companion.  By  this  time 
we  had  got  a  candle  lit  in  the  saloon. 

"What  is  it?"  was  heard  from  the  partly  open  door  of  the  la- 
dies' cabin. 

"  Nothing  at  all.     A  bit  of  a  breeze  has  sprung  up." 

"Mary  says  you  must  stay  below.  Never  mind  what  it  is. 
You  are  not  to  go  on  deck  again." 

"Very  well." 

He  came  into  the  saloon — all  wet  and  dripping,  but  exceeding- 
ly pleased  to  have  been  thus  thought  of — and  then  he  said,  in  a 
tragic  whisper, 

"  We  are  in  for  it  at  last." 

"  The  equinoctials  ?" 

"  Yes." 

So  we  turned  in  again,  leaving  the  White  Dove  to  haul  and 
strain  at  her  cables  all  through  the  night  —  swaying,  pitching, 
groaning,  creaking,  as  if  she  would  throw  herself  free  of  her  an- 
chors altogether,  and  sweep  away  over  to  Glenelg. 

Then,  in  the  early  morning,  the  gale  had  apparently  increased. 
While  the  women-folk  remained  in  their  cabin,  the  others  of  us 
adventured  up  the  companion-way  and  had  a  look  out.  It  was 
not  a  cheerful  sight.  All  around,  the  green  sea  was  being  torn 
along  by  the  heavy  wind ;  the  white  crest  of  the  waves  being 
whirled  up  in  smoke ;  the  surge  springing  high  on  the  rocks  over 
by  Glenelg ;  the  sky  almost  black  overhead ;  the  mountains  that 
ought  to  have  been  quite  near  us  invisible  behind  the  flying  mists 
of  the  rain.  Then  how  the  wind  howled !  Ordinarily  the  sound 
was  a  low,  moaning  bass  —  even  lower  than  the  sound  of  the 
waves ;  but  then  again  it  would  increase  and  rise  into  a  shrill 
whistle,  mostly  heard,  one  would  have  said,  from  about  the  stand- 
ing rigging  and  the  cross-trees.  But  our  observation  of  these 
phenomena  was  brief,  intermittent,  and  somewhat  ignominious. 
We  had  to  huddle  in  the  companion-way  like  jacks-in-the-box,  for 
the  incautiously  protruded  head  was  liable  to  be  hit  by  a  blast  of 
rain  that  came  along  like  a  charge  of  No.  6  shot.  Then  we  tum- 
bled below  for  breakfast,  and  the  scared  women-folk  made  their 
appearance. 

"The  equinoctials,  Angus?"  said  Queen  Titania,  with  some  so- 
lemnity of  face. 


336  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    KOMANCE, 

*'  Ob,  I  suppose  so,"  said  he,  cheerfully. 

"  Well,  I  have  been  through  them  two  or  three  times  before," 
said  she,  "  but  never  in  an  exposed  place  like  this." 

"  We  shall  fight  through  it  first-rate,"  said  he — and  you  should 
have  seen  Mary  Avon's  eyes ;  she  was  clearly  convinced  that  fif- 
teen equinoctial  gales  could  not  do  us  the  slightest  harm  so  long 
as  this  young  doctor  was  on  board.  "  It  is  a  fine  stroke  of  luck 
that  the  gale  is  from  the  south-west.  If  it  had  come  on  from  the 
east,  we  should  have  been  in  a  bad  way.  As  it  is,  there  is  not  a  rock 
between  here  and  the  opposite  shore  at  Glenelg ;  and  even  if  we 
drag  our  ancliors,  we  shall  catch  up  somewhere  at  the  other  side." 

"  I  hope  we  shall  not  have  to  trust  to  that,"  says  Queen  Ti- 
tania,  who  in  her  time  has  seen  something  of  the  results  of  ves- 
sels dragging  their  anchors. 

As  the  day  wore  on,  the  fury  of  the  gale  still  increased :  the 
wind  moaning  and  whistling  by  turns,  the  yacht  straining  at  her 
cables,  and  rolling  and  heaving  about.  Despite  the  tender  en- 
treaties of  the  women.  Dr.  Angus  would  go  on  deck  again ;  for 
now  Captain  John  had  resolved  on  lowering  the  top-mast,  and  also 
on  getting  the  boom  and  main-sail  from  their  crutch  down  on  to 
the  deck.  Being  above  in  this  weather  was  far  from  pleasant. 
The  showers  occasionally  took  the  form  of  hail ;  and  so  fiercely 
were  the  pellets  driven  by  the  wind  that  they  stung  where  they 
hit  the  face.  And  the  outlook  around  was  dismal  enough — the 
green  sea  and  its  whirling  spindrift ;  the  heavy  waves  breaking 
all  along  the  Glenelg  shores ;  the  writhing  of  the  gloomy  sky. 
We  had  a  companion,  by-the-way,  in  this  exposed  place — a  great 
black  schooner  that  heavily  rolled  and  pitched  as  she  strained 
at  lier  two  anchors.  The  skipper  of  her  did  not  leave  her  bows 
for  a  moment  the  whole  day,  watching  for  the  first  symptom  of 
dragging. 

Then  that  night.  As  the  darkness  came  over,  the  wind 
increased  in  shrillness,  until  it  seemed  to  tear  with  a  scream 
through  the  rigging  ;  and  though  we  were  fortunately  under  the 
lee  of  the  Skye  hills,  we  could  hear  the  water  smashing  on  the 
bows  of  the  yacht.  As  night  fell,  that  shrill  whistling  and  those 
recurrent  shocks  grew  in  violence,  until  we  began  to  wonder  how 
long  the  cables  would  liold. 

"  And  if  our  anchors  give,  I  wonder  where  we  shall  go  to," 
said  Queen  Titania,  in  rather  a  low  voice. 


THE    EQUINOCTIALS    AT    LAST.  337 

*' I  don't  care,"  said  Miss  Avon,  quite  contentedly. 

She  was  seated  at  dinner,  and  liad  undertaken  to  cut  up  and 
mix  some  salad  that  Master  Fred  had  got  at  Loch  Hourn.  She 
seemed  wholly  engrossed  in  that  occupation.  She  offered  some 
to  the  Laird,  very  prettily ;  and  he  would  have  taken  it  if  it  had 
been  hemlock.  But  when  she  said  she  did  not  care  where  the 
White  Dove  might  drift  to,  we  knew  very  well  what  she  meant. 
And  some  of  us  may  have  thought  that  a  time  would  perhaps 
arrive  when  the  young  lady  would  not  be  able  to  have  everything 
she  eared  for  in  the  world  within  the  compass  of  the  saloon  of  a 
yaclit. 

Now  it  is  perhaps  not  quite  fair  to  tell  tales  out  of  school ;  but 
still  the  truth  is  the  truth.  The  two  Avomen  were,  on  the  whole, 
very  brave  throughout  this  business ;  but  on  that  particular  night 
the  storm  grew  more  and  more  violent,  and  it  occurred  to  them 
that  they  would  escape  the  risk  of  being  rolled  out  of  their  berths 
if  they  came  along  into  the  saloon  and  got  some  rugs  laid  on  the 
floor.  This  they  did ;  and  the  noise  of  the  wind  and  the  sea 
was  so  great  that  none  of  the  occupants  of  the  adjoining  state- 
rooms heard  them.  But  then  it  appeared  that  no  sooner  had 
they  laid  down  on  the  floor — it  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  they 
were  dressed  and  ready  for  any  emergency  —  than  they  were 
mightily  alarmed  by  the  swishing  of  water  below  them. 

"  Mary !  Mary  !"  said  the  one,  "  the  sea  is  rushing  into  the 
hold." 

The  other,  knowing  less  about  yachts,  said  nothing ;  but  no 
doubt,  with  the  admirable  unselfishness  of  lovers,  thought  it  was 
not  of  much  consequence,  since  Angus  Sutherland  and  she  would 
be  drowned  together. 

But  what  was  to  be  done?  The  only  way  to  the  forecastle 
Avas  through  the  doctor's  state-room.  There  was  no  help  for  it ; 
they  first  knocked  at  his  door,  and  called  to  him  that  the  sea  was 
rushing  into  the  hold ;  and  then  he  bawled  into  the  forecastle 
until  Master  Fred,  the  first  to  awake,  made  his  appearance,  rub- 
bing his  knuckles  into  his  eyes  and  saying,  "  Very  well,  sir ;  is  it 
hot  water  or  cold  water  ye  want?"  and  then  there  was  a  general 
commotion  of  the  men  getting  on  deck  to  try  the  pumps.  And 
all  this  brave  uproar  for  nothing.  There  was  scarcely  a  gallon 
of  water  in  the  hold;  but  the  women,  by  putting  their  heads 
close  to  the  floor  of  the  saloon,  had  imagined  that  the  sea  was 


338  WHITE  wings:    a  yachting  komance. 

rusLing  in  on  tlaem.  Such  is  the  story  of  this  night's  adventures 
as  it  was  subsequently — and  with  some  shamefacedness — related 
to  the  writer  of  these  pages.  There  are  some  people  who,  when 
they  go  to  sleep,  sleep,  and  refuse  to  pay  heed  to  twopenny- 
halfpenny  tumults. 

Next  morning  the  state  of  affairs  was  no  better ;  but  there  was 
this  point  in  our  favor,  that  the  White  Dove,  having  held  on  so 
long,  was  not  now  likely  to  drag  her  anchors  and  precipitate  us 
on  the  Glenelg  shore.  Again  we  had  to  pass  the  day  below, 
with  the  running  accompaniment  of  pitching  and  groaning  on 
the  part  of  the  boat,  and  of  the  shrill  clamor  of  the  wind,  and 
the  rattling  of  heavy  showers.  But  as  we  sat  at  luncheon,  a 
strange  thing  occurred.  A  burst  of  sunlight  suddenly  came 
through  the  skylight  and  filled  the  saloon,  moving  backward  and 
forward  on  the  blue  cushions  as  the  yacht  swayed,  and  delight- 
ing everybody  with  the  unexpected  glory  of  color.  You  may 
suppose  that  there  was  little  more  thought  of  luncheon.  There 
was  an  instant  stampede  for  water-proofs,  and  a  clambering  up 
the  companion-waj".  Did  not  this  brief  burst  of  sunlight  por- 
tend the  passing  over  of  the  gale  ?  Alas  !  alas  !  when  we  got  on 
deck,  we  found  the  scene  around  us  as  wild  and  stormy  as  ever, 
with  even  a  heavier  sea  now  racing  up  the  Sound  and  thundering 
along  Glenelg.  Hopelessly  we  went  below  again.  The  only 
cheerful  feature  of  our  imprisonment  was  the  obvious  content  of 
those  two  young  people.  They  seemed  perfectly  satisfied  with 
being  shut  up  in  this  saloon ;  and  were  always  quite  surprised 
when  Master  Fred's  summons  interrupted  their  draughts  or 
bezique. 

On  the  third  day  the  wind  came  in  intermittent  squalls,  which 
was  something;  and  occasionally  there  was  a  glorious  burst  of 
sunshine  that  went  flying  across  the  gray-green  driven  sea.  But 
for  the  most  part  it  rained  heavily ;  and  the  Ferdinand  and  Mi- 
randa business  was  continued  with  much  content.  The  Laird 
had  lost  himself  in  Municipal  Loudon.  Oar  Admiral-in-chief 
was  writing  voluminous  letters  to  two  youths  at  school  in  Surrey, 
which  were  to  be  posted  if  over  we  reached  land  again. 

That  night  about  ten  o'clock  a  cheering  incident  occurred. 
We  heard  the  booming  of  a  steam-whistle.  Getting  up  on  deck, 
we  could  make  out  the  lights  of  a  steamer  creeping  along  by  the 
Glenelg  shore.     That  was  the  Clydesdale,  going  north.     Would 


THE    EQUINOCTIALS    AT   LAST.  339 

she  have  faced  Ardnamurchan  if  the  equinoctials  had  not  mod- 
erated somewhat  ?     These  were  friendly  lights. 

Then  on  the  fourth  day  it  became  quite  certain  that  the  gale 
was  moderating.  The  bursts  of  sunshine  became  more  frequent ; 
patches  of  brilliant  blue  appeared  in  the  sky;  a  rainbow  from 
time  to  time  appeared  between  us  and  the  black  clouds  in  the 
east.  With  what  an  intoxication  of  joy  we  got  out  at  last  from 
our  long  imprisonment,  and  felt  the  warm  sunlight  around  us, 
and  watched  the  men  get  ready  to  lower  the  gig  so  as  to  estab- 
lish once  more  our  communications  with  the  land.  Mary  Avon 
would  boldly  have  adventured  into  that  tumbling  and  rocking 
thing — she  implored  to  be  allowed  to  go :  if  the  doctor  were  go- 
ing to  pull  stroke,  why  should  she  not  be  allowed  to  steer  ?  But 
she  was  forcibly  restrained.  Then  away  went  the  shapely  boat 
through  the  plunging  waters — showers  of  spray  sweeping  from 
her  stem  to  stern — until  it  disappeared  into  the  little  bight  of 
Kyle  Rhea. 

The  news  brought  back  from  the  shore  of  the  destruction 
wrought  by  this  gale — the  worst  that  had  visited  these  coasts  for 
three-and-twenty  years — was  terrible  enough ;  and  it  was  coupled 
with  the  most  earnest  warnings  that  we  should  not  set  out.  But 
the  sunlight  had  got  into  the  brain  of  these  long-imprisoned  peo- 
ple, and  sent  them  mad.  They  implored  the  doubting  John  of 
Skye  to  get  ready  to  start.  They  promised  that  if  only  he 
would  run  up  to  Kyle  Akin,  they  would  not  ask  him  to  go  far- 
ther, unless  the  weather  was  quite  fine.  To  move — to  move — 
that  was  their  only  desire  and  cry. 

John  of  Skye  shook  his  head ;  but  so  far  humored  them  as  to 
weigh  one  of  the  anchors.  By-and-by,  too,  he  had  the  top-mast 
hoisted  again  :  all  this  looked  more  promising.  Then,  as  the 
afternoon  came  on,  and  the  tide  would  soon  be  turning,  they 
renewed  their  entreaties.     John,  still  doubting,  at  length  yielded. 

Then  the  joyful  uproar!  All  hands  were  summoned  to  the 
halyards,  for  the  main-sail,  soaked  through  with  the  rain,  was 
about  as  stiff  as  a  sheet  of  iron.  And  the  weighing  of  the  sec- 
ond anchor — that  was  a  cheerful  sound  indeed.  We  paid  scarce- 
ly any  heed  to  this  white  squall  that  was  coming  tearing  along 
from  the  south.  It  brought  both  rain  and  sunlight  with  it ;  for 
a  second  or  two  we  were  enveloped  in  a  sort  of  glorified  mist — 
then  the  next  minute  we  found  a  rainbow  shining  between  us 

IG* 


340  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

and  the  black  hull  of  tlie  smack;  presently  we  were  in  glowing 
sunshine  again.  And  then  at  last  the  anchor  was  got  up,  and  the 
sails  filled  to  the  wind,  and  the  main-sheet  slackened  out.  The 
White  Dove,  released  once  more,  was  flying  away  to  the  northern 

seas ! 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

FLIEH  1    AUF  !    HINAUS  !" 


This  splendid  sense  of  life,  and  motion,  and  brisk  excitement ! 
We  flew  through  the  narrows  like  a  bolt  from  a  bow ;  we  had 
scarcely  time  to  regard  the  whirling  eddies  of  the  current.  All 
hands  were  on  the  alert,  too,  for  the  wind  came  in  gusts  from 
the  Skye  hills,  and  this  tortuous  strait  is  not  a  pleasant  place 
to  be  taken  unawares  in.  But  the  watching  and  work  were  alto- 
gether delightful,  after  our  long  imprisonment.  Even  the  grave 
John  of  Skye  was  whistling  "Fhir  a  bhata"  to  himself — some- 
what out  of  tune. 

The  wild  and  stormy  sunset  was  shining  all  along  the  shores 
of  Loch  Alsh  as  we  got  out  of  the  narrows  and  came  in  sight  of 
Kyle  Akin.  And  here  were  a  number  of  vessels,  all  storm-stayed, 
one  of  them,  in  the  distance,  with  her  sail  set.  We  discovered 
afterward  that  this  schooner  had  dragged  her  anchors  and  run 
ashore  at  Balmacara ;  she  was  more  fortunate  than  many  others 
that  suffered  in  this  memorable  gale,  and  was,  at  the  moment  we 
passed,  returning  to  her  former  anchorage. 

The  sunlight  and  the  delight  of  moving  had  certainly  got  into 
the  heads  of  these  people.  Nothing  would  do  for  them  but  that 
John  of  Skye  should  go  on  sailing  all  night.  Kyle  Akin  ?  they 
would  not  hear  of  Kyle  Akin.  And  it  was  of  no  avail  that  Cap- 
tain John  told  them  what  he  had  heard  ashore — that  the  Glencoe 
had  to  put  back,  with  her  bulwarks  smashed ;  that  here,  there, 
and  everywhere  vessels  were  on  the  rocks;  that  Stornoway  Har- 
bor was  full  of  foreign  craft,  not  one  of  which  would  put  her 
nose  out.  They  pointed  to  the  sea  and  the  scene  around  them. 
It  was  a  lovely  sunset.     Would  not  the  moon  be  up  by  eleven  ? 

"  Well,  mem,"  said  John  of  Skye,  with  a  humorous  smile,  "  I 
think  if  we  go  on  the  night,  there  not  mich  chance  of  our  rin- 
ning  against  anything." 


"  FLiEii !    auf!   iiinaus  !"  341 

And,  indeed,  he  was  not  to  be  outbraved  by  a  couple  of  women. 
When  we  got  to  Kyle  Akin,  the  dusk  beginning  to  creep  over 
land  and  sea,  he  showed  no  signs  of  running  in  there  for  shelter. 
We  pushed  through  the  narrow  straits,  and  came  in  view  of  the 
darkening  plain  of  the  Atlantic,  opening  away  up  there  to  the 
north,  and  as  far  as  we  could  see  there  was  not  a  single  vessel  but 
ourselves  on  all  this  world  of  water.  The  gloom  deepened ;  in 
under  the  mountains  of  Skye  there  was  a  darkness  as  of  mid- 
night. But  one  could  still  make  out  ahead  of  us  the  line  of  the 
Scalpa  shore,  marked  by  the  white  breaking  of  the  waves.  Even 
when  that  grew  invisible  we  had  Rona  light  to  steer  by. 

The  stormy  and  unsettled  look  of  the  sunset  had  prepared  us 
for  something  of  a  dirty  night,  and  as  we  went  on  both  wind  and 
sea  increased  considerably.  The  south-westerly  breeze  that  had 
brought  us  so  far  at  a  spanking  rate  began  to  veer  round  to  the 
north,  and  came  in  violent  squalls,  while  the  long  swell  running 
down  between  Raasay  and  Scalpa  and  the  main-land  caused  the 
White  Dove  to  labor  heavily.  Moreover,  the  night  got  as  black 
as  pitch,  the  moon  had  not  arisen,  and  it  was  lucky,  in  this  labo- 
rious beating  up  against  the  northerly  squalls,  that  we  had  the  dis- 
tant Rona  light  by  which  to  judge  of  our  whereabouts. 

The  two  women  were  huddled  together  in  the  companion-way; 
it  was  the  safest  place  for  them  ;  we  ceuld  just  make  out  the  two 
dark  figures  in  the  ruddy  glow  coming  up  from  the  saloon. 

"  Isn't  it  splendid  to  be  going  like  this,"  said  Miss  Avon,  "  af- 
ter lying  at  anchor  so  long?" 

Her  friend  did  not  answer.  She  had  been  chiefly  instrumental 
in  persuading  Captain  John  to  keep  on  during  the  night,  and  she 
did  not  quite  like  the  look  of  things.  For  one  thing,  she  had 
perceived  that  the  men  were  all  now  clad  from  head  to  foot  in  oil- 
skins, though  as  yet  there  was  nothing  but  spray  coming  on  board. 

Our  young  doctor  came  aft,  and  tried  to  get  down  the  com- 
panion-way without  disturbing  the  two  women. 

"  I  am  going  below  for  my  water-proof  and  leggings,"  said  he 
with  a  slight  laugh.  "  There  will  be  some  fun  before  this  night 
is  over." 

The  tone  of  the  girl  altered  in  a  moment. 

*'  Oh,  Angus,"  said  she,  grasping  him  by  the  arm,  "  pray  don't 
do  that!  Leave  the  men  to  work  the  boat.  If  there  is  any  dan- 
ger, why  don't  they  make  away  for  the  land  somewhere  ?" 


342  WHITE    WINGS  :    A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

"  There  is  no  danger,"  said  he,  "  but  there  will  be  a  little  water 
by-and-by." 

The  volume  of  the  great  waves  was  certainly  increasing,  and  a 
beautiful  sight  it  was  to  mark  the  red  port  light  shining  on  the 
rushing  masses  of  foam  as  they  swept  by  the  side  of  the  vessel. 
Our  whereabouts  by  this  time  had  become  wholly  a  matter  of 
conjecture  with  the  amateurs,  for  the  night  was  quite  black ;  how- 
ever, Rona  light  still  did  us  good  service. 

When  Angus  Sutherland  came  on  deck  again  she  was  on  the 
port  tack,  and  the  wind  had  moderated  somewhat.  But  this 
proved  to  be  a  lull  of  evil  omen.  There  was  a  low  roar  heard  in 
the  distance,  and  almost  directly  a  violent  squall  from  the  east 
struck  the  yacht,  sending  the  boom  flying  over  before  the  skipper 
could  get  hold  of  the  main-sheet.  Away  flew  the  White  Dove 
like  an  arrow,  with  the  unseen  masses  of  water  smashing  over  her 
bows. 

"  In  with  the  mizzen,  boys !"  called  out  John  of  Skye,  and  there 
was  a  hurried  clatter  and  stamping,  and  flapping  of  canvas. 

But  that  was  not  enough,  for  this  unexpected  squall  from  the 
east  showed  permanence,  and  as  we  were  making  in  for  the  Sound 
of  Scalpa,  we  were  now  running  free  before  the  wind. 

*'  We'll  tek  the  foresail  off  her,  boys !"  shouted  John  of  Skye 
airain ;  and  presently  there  was  another  rattle  down  on  the  deck. 

Onward  and  onward  we  flew,  in  absolute  darkness  but  for  that 
red  light  that  made  the  sea  shine  like  a  foaming  sea  of  blood. 
And  the  pressure  of  the  wind  behind  increased  until  it  seemed 
likely  to  tear  the  canvas  oflf  her  spars. 

"  Down  with  the  jib,  then  !"  called  out  John  of  Skye ;  and  we 
hoard,  but  could  not  see,  the  men  at  work  forward.  And  still  the 
White  Dove  flew  onward  through  the  night,  and  the  wind  howled 
and  whistled  through  the  rigging,  and  the  boiling  surges  of  foam 
swept  away  from  her  side.  There  was  no  more  of  Rona  light  to 
guide  us  now ;  we  were  tearing  through  the  Sound  of  Scalpa ; 
and  still  this  hurricane  seemed  to  increase  in  fury.  As  a  last  re- 
source, John  of  Skye  had  the  peak  lowered.  We  had  now  noth- 
ing left  but  a  main-sail  about  the  size  of  a  pocket-handkerchief. 

As  the  night  wore  on,  we  got  into  more  sheltered  waters,  being 
under  the  lee  of  Scalpa;  and  we  crept  away  down  between  that 
island  and  Skye,  seeking  for  a  safe  anchorage.  It  was  a  business 
that  needed  a  sharp  lookout,  for  the  waters  are  shallow  here, 


"flieii!    auf!   iiinaus  !"  343 

and  wc  discovered  one  or  two  smacks  at  anclior,  with  no  lights 
up.  They  did  not  expect  any  vessel  to  run  in  from  the  open  on 
a  night  like  this. 

And  at  last  we  chose  our  place  for  the  night,  letting  go  both 
anchors.     Then  we  went  below,  into  the  saloon. 

"And  how  do  you  like  sailing  in  the  equinoctials,  Mary?"  said 
our  hostess. 

"  I  am  glad  we  are  all  around  this  table  again,  and  alive,"  said 
the  girl. 

"  I  thought  you  said  the  other  day  you  did  not  care  whether 
the  yacht  went  down  or  not  ?" 

"  Of  the  two,"  remarked  Miss  Avon,  shyly,  "  it  is  perhaps  bet- 
ter that  she  should  be  afloat." 

Angus  was  passing  at  the  moment.  He  put  his  hand  lightly 
on  her  shoulder,  and  said,  in  a  kind  way, 

"  It  is  better  not  to  tempt  the  unknown,  Mary.  Remember 
what  the  French  proverb  says,  '  Quand  on  est  mort,  c'est  pour 
longtemps.'  And  you  know  you  have  not  nearly  completed  that 
great  series  of  White  Dove  sketches  for  the  smoking-room  at 
Denny-mains." 

"  The  smoking  -  room !"  exclaimed  the  Laird,  indignantly. 
"There  is  not  one  of  her  sketches  that  will  not  have  a  place — 
an  honored  place  —  in  my  dining-room  :  depend  on  that.  Ye 
will  see — both  of  ye — what  I  will  do  with  them ;  and  the  sooner 
ye  come  to  see,  the  better." 

We  this  evening  resolved  that  if,  by  favor  of  the  winds  and 
the  valor  of  John  of  Skye,  we  got  up  to  Portree  next  day,  we 
should  at  once  telegraph  to  the  island  of  Lewis  (where  we  pro- 
posed to  cease  these  summer  wanderings)  to  inquire  about  the 
safety  of  certain  friends  of  ours  whom  we  meant  to  visit  there, 
and  who  are  much  given  to  yachting ;  for  the  equinoctials  must 
have  blown  heavily  into  Loch  Roag,  and  the  little  harbor  at  Bor- 
va  is  somewhat  exposed.  However,  it  was  not  likely  that  they 
would  allow  themselves  to  be  caught.  They  know  something 
about  the  sea,  and  about  boats,  at  Borva. 


344  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

AFTER     THE     GALE. 

"  Well,  indeed  !"  exclaimed  tlie  Laird,  on  putting  bis  head  out 
next  morning ;  "  tliis  is  wonderful — wonderful !" 

Was  it  the  long  imprisonment  in  the  darkness  of  the  equinoc- 
tials that  made  him  welcome  with  so  much  delight  this  spectacle 
of  fair  skies  and  sapphire  seas,  with  the  waves  breaking  white 
in  Scalpa  Sound,  and  tbe  sunlight  shining  along  the  Coolins?  Or 
was  it  not  ratber  our  long  isolation  from  tbe  ordinary  afEairs  of 
the  world  that  made  him  greet  with  acclamation  this  picture  of 
brisk  and  busy  human  life,  now  visible  from  the  deck  of  tbe 
yacht?  We  were  no  longer  alone  in  the  world.  Over  there, 
around  tbe  big  black  smacks  —  that  looked  like  so  many  hens 
with  broods  of  chickens — swarmed  a  fleet  of  fishing-boats ;  and 
as  rapidly  as  hands  could  manage  it,  both  men  and  women  were 
shaking  out  tbe  brown  nets  and  securing  the  glittering  silver 
treasure  of  tbe  sea.  It  was  a  picturesque  sight — the  stalwart, 
brown-bearded  men  in  their  yellow  oil-skins  and  huge  boots ;  tbe 
bare-armed  women  in  their  scarlet  short  gowns ;  tbe  masses  of 
ruddy  brown  nets;  the  lowered  sails.  And  then  the  Laird  per- 
ceived that  he  was  not  alone  in  regarding  this  busy  and  cheerful 
scene. 

Along  there  by  the  bulwarks,  with  one  hand  on  the  shrouds 
and  the  other  on  the  gig,  stood  Mary  Avon,  apparently  watching 
the  boats  passing  to  and  fro  between  the  smacks  and  the  shore. 
The  Laird  went  gently  up  to  her,  and  put  his  hand  on  her  shoul- 
der. Slie  started,  turned  round  suddenly,  and  then  he  saw,  to 
his  dismay,  that  her  eyes  wore  full  of  tears. 

"  What,  what  ?"  said  he,  with  a  quick  doubt  and  fear  coming 
over  him.  Had  all  his  plans  failed,  then  ?  Was  the  girl  still  un- 
happy ? 

"What  is  it,  lass?  What  is  tbe  matter?"  said  he,  gripping 
lier  liand  so  as  to  get  the  truth  from  her. 

By  this  time  she  bad  dried  her  eyes. 


AFTER   THE    GALE.  345 

"  Nothing — nothing,"  said  she,  rather  shamefacedly.  "  I  was 
only  thinking  about  the  song  of  '  Caller  Herring ;'  and  how  glad 
those  women  must  be  to  find  their  husbands  come  back  this 
morning.  Fancy  their  being  out  on  such  a  night  as  last  night. 
AYhat  it  must  be  to  be  a  fisherman's  wife — and  alone  on  shore — " 

"  Toots,  toots,  lass  !"  cried  the  Laird,  with  a  splendid  cheerful- 
ness ;  for  he  was  greatly  relieved  that  this  was  all  the  cause  of 
the  w^et  eyes.  "Ye  arc  jist  giving  way  to  a  sentiment.  I  have 
observed  that  people  arc  apt  to  be  sentimental  in  the  morning, 
before  they  get  their  breakfast.  What !  are  ye  peetying  these 
folk?  I  can  tell  ye  this  is  a  proud  day  for  them,  to  judge  by 
they  heaps  o'  fish.  They  are  jist  as  happy  as  kings ;  and  as  for 
the  risk  o'  their  trade,  they  have  to  do  what  is  appointed  to 
them.  Why,  does  not  that  doctor  friend  o'  yours  say  that  the 
happiest  people  are  they  who  are  hardest  worked  ?" 

This  reference  to  the  doctor  silenced  the  young  lady  at  once. 

*'  Not  that  I  have  much  right  to  talk  about  work,"  said  the 
Laird,  penitently.  "  I  believe  I  am  becoming  the  idlest  crayture 
on  the  face  of  this  world." 

At  this  point  a  very  pretty  little  incident  occurred.  A  boat 
was  passing  to  the  shore ;  and  in  the  stern  of  her  was  a  young 
fisherman  —  a  handsome  young  fellow,  with  a  sun -tanned  face 
and  yellow  beard.  As  they  were  going  by  the  yacht,  he  caught 
a  glimpse  of  Miss  Avon;  then,  when  they  had  passed,  he  said 
something  in  Gaelic  to  his  two  companions,  who  immediately 
rested  on  their  oars.  Then  he  was  seen  rapidly  to  fill  a  tin  can 
with  two  or  three  dozen  herrings ;  and  his  companions  backed 
their  boat  to  the  side  of  the  yacht.  The  young  fellow  stood  up 
in  the  stern,  and  with  a  shy  laugh — but  with  no  speech,  for  he 
was  doubtless  nervous  about  his  English — offered  this  present  to 
the  young  lady.  She  was  very  much  pleased ;  but  she  blushed 
quite  as  much  as  he  did.  And  she  was  confused,  for  she  could 
not  summon  Master  Fred  to  take  charge  of  the  herrings,  seeing 
this  compliment  was  so  directly  paid  to  herself.  However,  she 
boldly  gripped  the  tin  can,  and  said,  "  Oh,  thank  you  very  much  ;" 
and  by  this  time  the  Laird  had  fetclied  a  bucket,  into  which  the 
glittering  beauties  were  slipped.  Then  the  can  was  handed  back, 
with  further  and  profuse  thanks,  and  the  boat  pushed  off. 

Suddenly,  and  with  great  alarm,  Miss  Avon  remembered  that 
Angus  had  taught  her  what  Highland  manners  were. 


346  WHITE  wings:  a  yachting  romance. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon  !"  she  called  out  to  the  bearded  young 
fisherman,  who  instantly  turned  round,  and  the  oars  were  stopped. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  she,  with  an  extreme  and  anxious  po- 
liteness, "  but  would  you  take  a  glass  of  whiskey  ?" 

"  No,  thank  ye,  mem,"  said  the  fisherman,  with  another  laugh 
of  friendliness  on  the  frank  face ;  and  then  away  they  went. 

The  girl  was  in  despair.  She  was  about  to  marry  a  High- 
lander, and  already  she  had  forgotten  the  first  of  Highland  cus- 
toms. But  unexpected  relief  was  at  hand.  Hearing  something 
going  on,  John  of  Skye  had  tumbled  up  from  the  forecastle,  and 
instantly  saw  that  the  young  lady  was  sorely  grieved  that  those 
friendly  fishermen  had  not  accepted  this  return  compliment.  He 
called  aloud,  in  Gaelic,  and  in  a  severe  tone.  The  three  men  came 
back,  looking  rather  like  school-boys  who  would  fain  escape  from 
an  embarrassing  interview.  And  then  at  the  same  moment  Cap- 
tain John,  who  had  asked  Fred  to  bring  up  the  whiskey-bottle, 
said,  in  a  low  voice,  to  the  young  lady, 

"  They  would  think  it  ferry  kind,  mem,  if  you  would  pour  out 
the  whiskey  with  your  own  hand." 

And  this  was  done,  Miss  Mary  going  through  the  ceremony 
without  flinching ;  and  as  each  of  the  men  was  handed  his  glass, 
he  rose  up  in  the  boat,  and  took  off  his  cap,  and  drank  the  health 
of  the  young  lady,  in  the  Gaelic.  And  Angus  Sutherland,  when  . 
he  came  on  deck,  was  greatly  pleased  to  hear  of  what  she  had 
done ;  though  the  Laird  took  occasion  to  remark  at  breakfast  that 
he  hoped  it  was  not  a  common  custom  among  the  young  ladies 
of  England  to  get  up  early  in  the  morning  to  have  clandestine 
flirtations  with  handsome  young  fishermen. 

Then  all  hands  on  deck ;  for  now  there  are  two  anchors  to  be 
got  in,  and  we  must  not  lose  any  of  this  pleasant  sailing  breeze. 
In  these  sheltered  and  shining  waters  there  are  scarcely  any  traces 
of  the  recent  rough  weather,  except  that  the  wind  still  comes  in 
variable  puffs,  and  from  all  sorts  of  unexpected  directions.  In 
the  main,  however,  it  is  north  by  cast,  and  so  we  have  to  set  to 
work  to  leisurely  beat  up  the  Sound  of  Raasay. 

"Well,  this  is  indeed  like  old  times,  Mary!"  Queen  Titania 
cries,  as  she  comfortably  ensconces  herself  in  a  camp-chair;  for 
Miss  Avon  is  at  the  helm,  and  the  young  doctor,  lying  at  full 
length  on  the  sunlit  deck,  is  watching  the  sails  and  criticising  her 
steering,  and  the  Laird  is  demonstrating  to  a  humble  listener  the 


AFTER    THE    GALE.  347 

immeasurable  advantages  enjoyed  by  the  Scotch  landscape-paint- 
ers, in  that  tliey  have  within  so  small  a  compass  every  variety  of 
mountain,  lake,  woodland,  and  ocean  scenery.  He  becomes  face- 
tious, too,  about  Miss  Mary's  sketches.  AVhat  if  he  were  to  have 
a  room  set  apart  for  them  at  Denny-mains,  to  be  called  the  White 
Dove  Gallery  ?  He  might  have  a  skilled  decorator  out  from 
Glasgow  to  devise  the  furniture  and  ornamentation,  so  tliat  both 
should  suggest  the  sea,  and  ships,  and  sailors. 

Here  John  of  Skye  comes  aft. 

"  I  think,"  says  he  to  Miss  Avon,  with  a  modest  smile,  "  we 
might  put  the  gaff  top-sail  on  her." 

"Oh  yes,  certainly,"  says  this  experienced  mariner;  and  the 
doctor,  seeing  an  opportunity  for  bestirring  himself,  jumps  to 
his  feet. 

And  so,  with  the  top-sail  shining  white  in  the  sun — a  thing  we 
have  not  seen  for  some  time — we  leave  behind  us  the  gloomy 
opening  into  Loch  Sligachan,  and  beat  up  through  the  Raasay 
narrows,  and  steal  by  the  pleasant  woods  of  Raasay  House.  The 
Laird  has  returned  to  that  project  of  the  Marine  Gallery,  and  he 
has  secured  an  attentive  listener  in  the  person  of  his  hostess,  who 
prides  herself  that  she  has  a  sure  instinct  as  to  what  is  "  right " 
in  mural  decoration. 

This  is  indeed  like  old  times  come  back  again.  The  light,  cool 
breeze,  the  warm  decks,  the  pleasant  lapping  of  the  water,  and 
our  steerswoman  partly  whistling  and  partly  humming — 

"  They'll  put  a  napkin  round  my  e'en. 
They'll  no  let  me  see  to  dee ; 
And  they'll  never  let  on  to  my  faither  and  mither, 
But  I  am  awa'  o'er  the  sea." 

And  this  she  is  abstractedly  and  contentedly  doing,  without  any 
notice  of  the  fact  that  the  song  is  supposed  to  be  a  pathetic  one. 
Then  our  young  doctor :  of  what  does  he  discourse  to  us  dur- 
ing this  delightful  day-dreaming  and  idleness  ?  Well,  it  has  been 
remarked  by  more  than  one  of  us  that  Dr.  Angus  has  become 
tremendously  practical  of  late.  You  would  scarcely  have  believed 
that  this  was  the  young  F.R.S.  who  used  to  startle  the  good  Laird 
out  of  his  wits  by  his  wild  speculations  about  the  origin  of  the 
world  and  similar  trifles.  Now  his  whole  interest  seemed  to  be 
centred  on  the  commonest  things :  all  the  Commissioners  of  the 


348  WHITE    wings:    a    YACIITINa    ROMANCE. 

Burgh  of  Stratligovan  put  together  could  not  have  been  more 
fierce  than  he  was  about  tlic  necessity  of  supplying  houses  with 
pure  water,  for  example.  And  the  abuse  that  he  heaped  on  the 
Water  Companies  of  London,  more  especially,  and  on  the  Govern- 
ment which  did  not  interfere,  was  so  distinctly  libellous  that  we 
were  glad  no  alien  overheard  it. 

Then  as  to  arsenic  in  wall-paper :  he  was  equally  dogmatic  and 
indignant  about  that ;  and  here  it  was  his  hostess,  rather  than  the 
Laird,  who  was  interested.  She  eagerly  committed  to  her  note- 
book a  recipe  for  testing  the  presence  of  that  vile  metal  in  wall- 
papers or  anything  else ;  and  some  of  us  had  mentally  to  thank 
Heaven  that  she  was  not  likely  to  get  test-tubes,  and  zinc  filings, 
and  hydrochloric  acid  in  Portree.  The  woman  would  have  blown 
up  the  ship. 

All  this  and  much  more  was  very  different  from  the  kind  of 
conversation  that  used  so  seriously  to  trouble  the  Laird.  When 
he  heard  Angus  talk  with  great  common-sense  and  abundant  in- 
formation about  the  various  climates  that  suited  particular  con- 
stitutions, and  about  the  best  soils  for  building  houses  on,  and 
about  the  necessity  for  strict  municipal  supervision  of  drainage, 
he  was  ready  to  believe  that  our  young  doctor  had  not  only  for 
his  own  part  never  handled  that  dangerous  book,  the  "  Vestiges  of 
Creation,"  but  that  he  had  never  even  known  any  one  who  had 
glanced  at  its  sophistical  pages  except  with  a  smile  of  pity. 
Why,  all  the  time  that  we  were  shut  up  by  the  equinoctials,  the 
only  profound  and  mysterious  thing  that  Angus  had  said  was 
this:  "There  is  surely  something  wrong  when  the  man  who 
takes  on  himself  all  the  trouble  of  drawing  a  bottle  of  ale  is 
bound  to  give  his  friend  the  first  tumbler,  which  is  clear,  and 
keep  the  second  tumbler,  which  is  muddy,  for  himself."  But  if 
you  narrowly  look  into  it,  you  will  find  that  there  is  really  noth- 
ing dangerous  or  unsettling  in  this  saying — no  grumbling  against 
the  ways  of  Providence  whatsoever.  It  was  mysterious,  per- 
haps ;  but  then  so  would  many  of  the  nice  points  about  the  Scra- 
pie case  have  been,  had  we  not  had  with  us  an  able  expositor. 

And  on  this  occasion,  as  we  were  running  along  for  Portree, 
our  F.  R.  S.  was  chiefly  engaged  in  warning  us  against  paying  too 
serious  heed  to  certain  extreme  theories  about  food  and  drink 
which  were  then  being  put  forward  by  a  number  of  distinguished 
physicians. 


AFTER   THE    GALE.  349 

"  For  people  in  good  health,  the  very  worst  adviser  is  the  doc- 
tor," he  was  saying;  when  lie  was  gently  reminded  by  his  host- 
ess that  he  must  not  malign  his  own  calling,  or  destroy  a  super- 
stition that  might  in  itself  have  curative  effects. 

"  Oh,  I  scarcely  call  myself  a  doctor,"  he  said, "  for  I  have  no 
practice  as  yet.  And  I  am  not  denying  the  power  of  a  physi- 
cian to  help  nature  in  certain  cases — of  course  not;  but  what  I 
say  is  that  for  healthy  people  the  doctor  is  the  worst  adviser  pos- 
sible. Why,  where  does  he  get  his  experience  ? — from  the  study 
of  people  who  are  ill.  lie  lives  in  an  atmosphere  of  sickness ; 
his  conclusions  about  the  human  body  are  drawn  from  bad  speci- 
mens ;  the  effects  that  he  sees  produced  are  produced  on  too 
sensitive  subjects.  Very  likely,  too,  if  he  is  himself  a  distin- 
guished physician,  he  has  gone  through  an  immense  amount  of 
training  and  subsequent  hard  work ;  his  own  system  is  not  of 
the  strongest ;  and  he  considers  that  what  he  feels  to  be  injurious 
to  him  must  be  injurious  to  other  people.  Probably  so  it  might 
be — to  people  similarly  sensitive  ;  but  not  necessarily  to  people 
in  sound  health.  Fancy  a  man  trying  to  terrify  people  by  de- 
scribing the  awful  appearance  produced  on  one's  internal  econo- 
my when  one  drinks  half  a  glass  of  sherry  !  And  that,"  he  add- 
ed, "  is  a  piece  of  pure  scientific  sensationalism  ;  for  precisely  the 
same  appearance  is  produced  if  you  drink  half  a  glass  of  milk." 

*'  I  am  of  opinion,"  said  the  Laird,  with  the  gravity  befitting 
such  a  topic,  "  that  of  all  steemulants  nothing  is  better  or  whole- 
somer  than  a  drop  of  sound,  sterling  whiskey." 

"And  where  are  you  likely  to  get  it?" 

"  I  can  assure  ye,  at  Denny-mains — " 

"  I  mean  where  are  the  masses  of  the  people  to  get  it  ?  "What 
they  get  is  a  cheap  white  spirit,  reeking  with  fusel-oil,  with  just 
enough  whiskey  blended  to  hide  the  imposture.  The  decoction 
is  a  certain  poison.  If  the  Government  would  stop  tinkering 
at  Irish  franchises,  and  Irish  tenures,  and  Irish  Universities,  and 
would  pass  a  law  making  it  penal  for  any  distiller  to  sell  spirits 
that  he  has  not  had  in  bond  for  at  least  two  years,  they  would  do 
a  good  deal  more  service  to  Ireland,  and  to  this  country  too." 

"  Still,  these  measures  of  amelioration  must  have  their  effect," 
observed  the  Laird,  sententiously.  "  I  would  not  discourage  wise 
legislation.  We  will  reconcile  Ireland  sooner  or  later,  if  we  are 
prudent  and  conseederate." 


350  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

"  You  may  as  well  give  them  Home  Rule  at  once,"  said  Dr. 
Angus,  bluntly.  "The  Irish  have  no  regard  for  the  historical 
grandeur  of  England  ;  how  could  they  ? — they  have  lost  their  or- 
gan of  veneration.  The  coronal  region  of  the  skull  has  in  time 
become  depressed,  through  frequent  shillalah  practice." 

For  a  second  the  Laird  glanced  at  him :  there  was  a  savor  of 
George  Combe  about  this  speech.  Could  it  be  that  he  believed 
in  that  monstrous  and  atheistical  theory  ? 

But  no ;  the  Laird  only  laughed,  and  said, 

"  I  would  not  like  to  have  an  Irishman  hear  ye  say  so." 

It  was  now  abundantly  clear  to  us  that  Denny-mains  could  no 
longer  suspect  of  anything  heterodox  and  destructive  this  young 
man  who  was  sound  on  drainage,  pure  air,  and  a  constant  supply 
of  water  to  the  tanks. 

Of  course,  we  could  not  get  into  Portree  without  Ben  Inivaig 
having  a  tussle  with  us.  This  mountain  is  the  most  inveterate 
brewer  of  squalls  in  the  whole  of  the  West  Highlands,  and  it  is 
his  especial  delight  to  catch  the  unwary,  when  all  their  eyes  are 
bent  on  the  safe  harbor  within.  But  we  were  equal  with  him. 
Although  he  tried  to  tear  our  masts  out  and  frighten  us  out  of 
our  senses,  all  that  he  really  succeeded  in  doing  was  to  put  us  to 
a  good  deal  of  trouble,  and  break  a  tumbler  or  two  below.  We 
pointed  the  finger  of  scorn  at  Ben  Inivaig.  We  sailed  past  him, 
and  took  no  more  notice  of  him.  With  a  favoring  breeze,  and 
with  our  top-sail  still  set,  we  glided  into  the  open  and  spacious 
harbor. 

But  that  first  look  round  was  a  strange  one.  Was  this  really 
Portree  Harbor,  or  were  we  so  many  Rip  Van  Winkles?  There 
were  the  shining  white  houses,  and  the  circular  bay,  and  the 
wooded  cliffs;  but  where  were  the  yachts  that  used  to  keep  the 
place  so  bright  and  busy  ?  There  was  not  an  inch  of  white  can- 
vas visible.  We  got  to  anchor  near  a  couple  of  heavy  smacks ; 
the  men  looked  at  us  as  if  we  had  dropped  from  the  skies. 

We  went  ashore  and  walked  up  to  the  telegraph-office  to  sec 
whether  the  adjacent  islands  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland — as 
the  Cumbrac  minister  called  them  —  had  survived  the  equinoc- 
tials ;  and  learned  only  too  accurately  what  serious  mischief  had 
l>een  done  all  along  these  coasts  by  the  gale.  From  various 
points,  moreover,  we  subsequently  received  congratulations  on 
our  escape,  until  we  almost  began  to  believe  that  we  had  really 


AFTER    THE    GALE.  351 

been  in  serious  peril.  For  tlie  rest,  our  friends  at  Borva  were 
safe  enough ;  they  had  not  been  on  board  their  yacht  at  all. 

That  evening,  in  the  silent  and  deserted  bay,  a  council  of  war 
was  held  on  deck.  We  were  not,  as  it  turned  out,  quite  alone ; 
there  had  also  come  in  a  steam-yacht,  the  master  of  which  in- 
formed our  John  of  Skye  that  such  a  gale  he  had  not  seen  for 
three-and-twenty  years.  He  also  told  us  that  there  was  a  heavy 
sea  running  in  the  Minch ;  and  that  no  vessel  would  try  to  cross. 
Stornoway  Harbor,  we  already  knew,  was  filled  with  storm-stayed 
craft.     So  we  had  to  decide. 

Like  the  very  small  and  white-faced  boy  who  stood  forth  to 
declaim  before  a  school  full  of  examiners  and  friends,  and  who 
raised  his  hand,  and  announced  in  a  trembling  falsetto  that  his 
voice  was  still  for  war,  it  was  the  women  who  spoke  first,  and 
they  were  for  going  right  on  the  next  morning. 

"  Mind,"  said  Angus  Sutherland,  looking  anxiously  at  certain 
dark  eyes ;  "  there  is  generally  a  good  sea  in  the  Minch  in  the 
best  of  weathers ;  but  after  a  three  or  four  days'  gale — well — " 

"  I,  for  one,  don't  care,"  said  Miss  Avon,  frankly  regarding 
him. 

"And  I  should  like  it,"  said  the  other  woman,  "so  long  as 
there  is  plenty  of  wind.  But  if  Captain  John  takes  me  out  into 
the  middle  of  the  Minch  and  keeps  me  rolling  about  on  the 
Atlantic  in  a  dead  calm,  then  something  will  befall  him  that  his 
mother  knew  nothing  about." 

Here  Captain  John  was  emboldened  to  step  forward,  and  to 
say,  with  an  embarrassed  politeness, 

"  I  not  afraid  of  anything  for  the  leddies ;  for  two  better  sail- 
ors I  never  sah  ahl  my  life-long." 

However,  the  final  result  of  our  confabulation  that  night  was 
the  resolve  to  get  under  way  next  morning,  and  proceed  a  certain 
distance  until  we  should  discover  what  the  weather  was  like  out- 
side. With  a  fair  wind,  we  might  run  the  sixty  miles  to  Storno- 
way before  night ;  without  a  fair  wind,  there  was  little  use  in 
our  adventuring  out  to  be  knocked  about  in  the  North  Minch, 
where  the  Atlantic  finds  itself  jammed  into  the  neck  of  a  bottle, 
and  rebels  in  a  somewhat  frantic  fashion.  AVe  must  do  our 
good  friends  in  Portree  the  justice  to  say  that  they  endeavored 
to  dissuade  us;  but  then  we  had  sailed  in  the  White  Dove  be- 
fore, and  had  no  great  fear  of  her  leading  us  into  any  trouble. 


352  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

And  so,  good-night ! — good-night !  We  can  scarcely  believe 
that  this  is  Portree  Harbor,  so  still  and  quiet  it  is.  All  the  sum- 
mer fleet  of  vessels  have  fed ;  the  year  is  gone  with  them ;  soon 
we,  too,  must  betake  ourselves  to  the  south.  Good -night! — 
good-night !  The  peace  of  the  darkness  falls  over  us ;  if  there 
is  any  sound,  it  is  the  sound  of  singing  in  our  dreams. 


:N;=F- 


^g?5 


S^: 


CHAPTER  XLVHI. 

A    GOOD    ONE    FOR    THE    LAST. 


"Ah,  well,  well,"  said  the  Laird,  somewhat  sadly,  to  his  host- 
ess, "  I  suppose  we  may  now  conseeder  that  we  have  started  on 
our  last  day's  sailing  in  the  White  Dove?'''' 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  she ;  and  this  was  before  breakfast,  so 
she  may  have  been  inclined  to  be  a  bit  sentimental  too. 

"  I'm  thinking,"  said  he,  "  that  some  of  us  may  hereafter  look 
back  on  this  sailing  as  the  longest  and  grandest  holiday  of  their 
life,  and  will  recall  the  name  of  the  White  Dove  with  a  certain 
amount  of  affection.  I,  for  one,  feel  that  I  can  scarcely  justify 
myself  for  withdrawing  so  long  from  the  duties  that  society  de- 
mands from  every  man  ;  and  no  doubt  there  will  be  much  to  set 
right  when  one  goes  back  to  Strathgovan.  But  perhaps  one  has 
been  able  to  do  something  even  in  one's  idleness — " 

He  paused  here,  and  remained  silent  for  a  moment  or  two. 

"  What  a  fine  thing,"  he  continued,  "  it  must  be  for  a  doctor 
to  watch  the  return  of  health  to  a  patient's  face — to  watch  the 
color  coming  back,  and  the  eyes  looking  happy  again,  and  the 
spirits  rising ;  and  to  think  that  maybe  he  has  helped.  And  if 
he  happens  to  know  the  patient,  and  to  be  as  anxious  about  her 
as  if  she  were  his  own  child,  do  not  ye  think  he  must  be  a  proud 
man  when  he  sees  the  results  of  what  he  has  done  for  her,  and 
when  he  hears  her  begin  to  laugh  again  ?" 

Despite  the  Laird's  profound  ingenuity,  we  knew  very  well 
who  that  doctor  was.     And  we  had  learned  something  about  the 


"  A    GOOD    ONE    FOK    THE    LAST."  353 

affection  which  this  mythical  physician  had  acquired  for  this 
imaginary  patient. 

"  What  a  sensitive  bit  crayture  she  is !"  said  he,  suddenly,  as 
if  he  were  now  talking  of  some  quite  different  person.  "  Have 
ye  seen  the  difference  the  last  few  days  have  made  on  her  face — 
have  ye  not  observed  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed  I  have." 

"  Ye  would  imagine  that  her  face  was  just  singing  a  song  from 
the  morning  till  the  night — I  have  never  seen  any  one  with  such 
expressive  eyes  as  that  bit  lass  has  —  and — and  —  it  is  fairly  a 
pleasure  to  any  one  to  look  at  the  happiness  of  them." 

"  Which  she  owes  to  you,  sir." 

"  To  me  ?"  said  the  Laird.  "  Dear  me  ! — not  to  me.  It  was 
a  fortunate  circumstance  that  I  was  with  ye  on  board  the  yacht, 
that  is  all.  What  I  did  no  man  who  had  the  chance  could  have 
refused  to  do.  No,  no ;  if  the  lass  owes  any  gratitude  to  any- 
body or  anything  it  is  to  the  Semple  case." 

"What?" 

"  Just  so,  ma'am,"  said  the  Laird,  composedly.  *'  I  will  con- 
fess to  ye  that  a  long  holiday  spent  in  sailing  had  not  that  at- 
traction for  me  it  might  have  had  for  others — though  I  think  I 
have  come  to  enjoy  it  now  with  the  best  of  ye ;  but  I  thought, 
when  ye  pressed  me  to  come,  that  it  would  be  a  grand  opportu- 
nity to  get  your  husband  to  take  up  the  Semple  case,  and  master 
it  thoroughly,  and  put  its  merits  in  a  just  manner  before  the  pub- 
lic. That  he  does  not  appear  to  be  as  much  interested  in  it  as  I 
had  reason  to  expect,  is  a  misfortune — perhaps  lie  will  grow  to 
see  the  importance  of  the  principles  involved  in  it  in  time ;  but 
I  have  ceased  to  force  it  on  his  attention.  In  the  mean  while  we 
have  had  a  fine,  long  holiday,  which  has  at  least  given  me  leisure 
to  consider  many  schemes  for  the  advantage  of  my  brother  pa- 
reeshioners.     Ay  ;  and  where  is  Miss  Mary,  though  ?" 

"  She  and  Angus  have  been  up  for  hours,  I  believe,"  said  his 
hostess.     "  I  heard  them  on  deck  before  we  started  anyway." 

"  I  would  not  disturb  them,"  said  the  Laird,  with  much  consid- 
eration. "  They  have  plenty  to  talk  about — all  their  life  open- 
ing up  before  them — like  a  road  through  a  garden,  as  one  might 
say.  And  whatever  befalls  them  hereafter  I  suppose  they  will 
always  remember  the  present  time  as  the  most  beautiful  of  their 
existence — the  wonder  of  it,  the  newness,  the  hope.    It  is  a  strange 


354  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

thing  that.  Ye  know,  ma'am,  that  our  garden  at  Denny-mains, 
if  I  may  say  so,  is  far  from  insigneeficant.  It  has  been  great- 
ly commended  by  experienced  landscape-gardeners.  Well,  now, 
that  garden,  when  it  is  just  at  its  fullest  of  summer  color — with 
all  its  dahlias  and  hollyhocks  and  what  not  —  I  say  ye  cannot 
get  half  as  much  delight  from  the  whole  show  as  ye  get  from 
the  first  glint  o'  a  primrose,  as  ye  are  walking  through  a  wood 
on  a  bleak  March  da}^,  and  not  expecting  to  see  anything  of  the 
kind.     Does  not  that  make  your  heart  jump  ?" 

Here  the  Laird  had  to  make  way  for  Master  Fred  and  the 
breakfast-tray. 

"  There  is  not  a  bairn  about  Strathgovan,"  he  continued,  with 
a  laugh,  "  knows  better  than  myself  where  to  find  the  first  prim- 
roses and  blue-bells  and  the  red  dead-nettle,  ye  know,  and  so  on. 
Would  ye  believe  it,  that  poor  crayture  Johnnie  Guthrie  was  for 
cutting  down  the  hedge  in  the  Coulterburn  Road,  and  putting  up 
a  stone  dike !"  Here  the  Laird's  face  grew  more  and  more  stern, 
and  he  spoke  with  unnecessary  vehemence.  "  I  make  bold  to 
say  that  the  man  who  would  cut  down  a  hawthorn  hedge  where 
the  children  go  to  gather  their  bits  o'  flowers,  and  would  put  in 
its  place  a  stone  wall  for  no  reason  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  I 
say  that  man  is  an  ass — an  intolerable  and  perneecious  ass !" 

But  this  fierceness  instantly  vanished,  for  here  was  Mary  Avon 
come  in  to  bid  him  good-morning.  And  he  rose  and  took  both 
her  hands  in  his  and  regarded  the  upturned,  smiling  face  and  the 
speaking  eyes. 

"  Ay,  ay,  lass,"  said  he,  with  great  satisfaction  and  approval, 
"  ye  have  got  the  roses  into  your  cheeks  at  last.  That  is  the 
morning  air — the  '  roses  weet  wi'  dew ' — it  is  a  fine  habit  that  of 
early  rising.  Dear  me,  what  a  shilpit  bit  thing  ye  were  when  I 
first  saw  ye  about  three  months  ago.  And  now  I  dare  say  ye  arc 
just  as  hungry  as  a  hawk  with  walking  up  and  down  the  deck  in 
the  sea-air — we  will  not  keep  yc  waiting  a  moment." 

The  Laird  got  her  a  chair,  next  his  own,  of  course;  and  then 
rung  Master  Fred's  bell  violently. 

"How's  licr  head,  skipper?"  said  Queen  T.,  when  the  young 
doctor  made  his  ajipearance  —  he  had  roses,  too,  in  his  checks, 
freshened  by  the  morning  air. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  frankly,  as  he  sat  down,  "  I  think  it  would 
be  judicious  to  have  breakfast  over  as  soon  as  possible ;  and  get 


"a  good  one  for  the  last."  355 

the  things  stowed  away.  We  arc  flying  up  the  Sound  of  Raasay 
like  a  witch  on  a  broom  ;  and  there  will  be  a  roaring  sea  when 
Ave  get  beyond  the  shelter  of  Skye." 

"  We  have  been  in  roaring  seas  before,"  said  she,  confidently. 

"We  met  a  schooner  coming  into  Portree  Harbor  this  morn- 
ing," said  he,  with  a  dry  smile.  "  She  left  yesterday  afternoon 
just  before  we  got  in.  They  were  at  it  all  night,  but  had  to  run 
back  at  last.     They  said  they  had  got  quite  enough  of  it." 

This  was  a  little  more  serious,  but  the  women  were  not  to  be 
daunted.  They  had  come  to  believe  in  the  White  Dove  being 
capable  of  anything,  especially  when  a  certain  aid  to  John  of 
Skye  was  on  board.  For  the  rest,  the  news  was  that  the  day  was 
lovely,  the  wind  fair  for  Stornoway,  and  the  yacht  flying  north- 
ward like  an  arrow. 

There  was  a  certain  solemnity,  nevertheless,  or  perhaps  only 
an  unusual  elaborateness,  about  our  preparations  before  going  on 
deck.  Gun-cases  were  wedged  in  in  front  of  canvases,  so  that 
Miss  Avon's  sketches  should  not  go  rolling  onto  the  floor;  all 
such  outlying  skirmishers  as  candlesticks,  aneroids,  draught-boards, 
and  the  like,  were  moved  to  the  rear  of  compact  masses  of  rugs ; 
and  then  the  women  were  ordered  to  array  themselves  in  their 
water-proofs.  Water-proofs  ? — and  the  sun  flooding  through  the 
skylight.     But  they  obeyed. 

Certainly  there  did  not  seem  to  be  any  great  need  for  water- 
proofs when  we  got  above,  and  had  the  women  placed  in  a  se- 
cure corner  of  the  companion-way.  It  was  a  brilliant,  breezy, 
blue-skied  morning,  with  the  decks  as  yet  quite  white  and  dry, 
and  with  the  long  mountainous  line  of  Skye  shining  in  the  sun. 
The  yacht  was  flying  along  at  a  famous  pace  before  a  fresh  and 
steady  breeze ;  already  we  could  make  out,  far  away  on  the 
northern  horizon,  a  pale,  low,  faint-blue  line,  which  we  knew  to 
be  the  hills  of  southern  Lewis.  Of  course,  one  had  to  observe 
that  the  vast  expanse  of  sea  lying  between  us  and  that  far  line 
was  of  a  stormy  black ;  moreover,  the  men  had  got  on  their  oil- 
skins, though  not  a  drop  of  spray  was  coming  on  board. 

As  we  spun  along,  however,  before  the  freshening  wind,  the 
crashes  of  the  waves  at  the  bows  became  somewhat  more  heavy, 
and  occasionally  some  jets  of  white  foam  would  spring  up  into 
the  sunlight.  When  it  was  suggested  to  Captain  John  that  he 
miglit  set  the  gaflE  top-sail,  he  very  respectfully  and  shylv  shook 

17 


356  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

bis  bead.  For  one  tbing,  it  was  ratber  strange  tbat  on  tbis  wide 
expanse  of  sea  not  a  solitary  vessel  was  visible. 

Fartber  and  fartber  nortbward.  And  now  one  bas  to  look  out 
for  the  wbite  water  springing  over  the  bows,  and  tbere  is  a  gen- 
eral ducking  of  heads  when  the  crash  forward  gives  warning. 
The  decks  are  beginning  to  glisten  now ;  and  Miss  Avon  has  re- 
ceived one  sharp  admonition  to  be  more  careful,  which  has  some- 
what damped  and  disarranged  her  hair.  And  so  the  White  Dove 
still  flies  to  the  north — like  an  arrow — like  a  witch  on  a  broom 
— like  a  hare,  only  that  none  of  these  things  would  groan  so  much 
in  getting  into  the  deep  troughs  of  the  sea ;  and  not  even  a  witch 
on  a  broom  could  perform  such  capers  in  the  way  of  tumbling 
and  tossing,  and  pitching  and  rolling. 

However,  all  this  was  mere  child's  play.  We  knew  very  well 
when  and  where  we  should  really  "  get  it ;"  and  we  got  it.  Once 
out  of  the  shelter  of  the  Skye  coast,  we  found  a  considerably 
heavy  sea  swinging  along  the  Minch,  and  the  wind  was  still  fresh- 
ening up,  insomuch  that  Captain  John  had  to  take  the  mizzen  and 
fore  sail  oflE  her.  How  splendidly  those  mountain-masses  of  waves 
came  heaving  along — apparently  quite  black  until  they  came  near, 
and  then  we  could  see  the  sunlight  shining  green  through  the 
breaking  crest;  then  there  was  a  shock  at  the  bows  tbat  caused 
the  yacht  to  shiver  from  stem  to  stern ;  then  a  high  springing 
into  the  air,  followed  by  a  heavy  rattle  and  rush  on  the  decks. 
The  scuppers  were  of  no  use  at  all ;  there  was  a  foot  and  a  half 
of  hissing  and  seething  salt-water  all  along  the  lee  bulwarks,  and 
when  the  gangway  was  lifted  to  let  it  out  the  next  rolling  wave 
only  spouted  an  equal  quantity  up  on  deck,  soaking  Dr.  Angus 
Sutherland  to  the  shoulder.  Then  a  heavier  sea  than  usual  struck 
her,  carrying  off  the  cover  of  the  fore-hatch  and  sending  it  spin- 
ning aft;  while  at  the  same  moment  a  voice  from  the  forecastle 
informed  Captain  John  in  an  injured  tone  tbat  this  last  invader 
had  swamped  the  men's  berths.  What  could  he  do  but  have  the 
main  tack  hauled  up  to  lighten  the  pressure  of  the  wind  ?  The 
waters  of  the  Minch,  when  once  they  rise,  are  not  to  bo  stilled  by 
a  bottle  of  salad  oil. 

We  had  never  before  seen  the  ordinarily  buoyant  White  Dove 
take  in  such  masses  of  water  over  her  bows ;  but  we  soon  got  ac- 
customed to  the  seething  lake  of  water  along  the  lee  scuppers, 
and  allowed  it  to  subside  or  increase  as  it  liked.     And  the  wonien 


"a  good  one  for  the  last."  357 

were  now  seated  a  step  lower  on  the  conipanion-way,  so  that  the 
rags  of  the  waves  flew  by  them  without  touching  them ;  and 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  laughing  and  jesting  going  on  at  the 
clinging  and  stumbling  of  any  unfortunate  person  who  had  to 
make  his  way  along  the  deck.  As  for  our  indefatigable  doctor, 
his  face  had  been  running  wet  with  salt-water  for  hours ;  twice 
he  had  slipped  and  gone  headlong  to  leeward ;  and  now,  with  a 
rope  double  twisted  round  the  tiller,  he  was  steering,  his  teeth  set 
hard. 

"  Well,  Mary,"  shrieked  Queen  Titania  into  her  companion's 
ear ;  "  we  are  having  a  good  one  for  the  last !" 

"  Is  he  going  up  the  mast  ?"  cried  the  girl,  in  great  alarm. 

"  I  say  we  are  having  a  good  one  for  the  last !" 

"  Oh  yes  1"  was  the  shout  in  reply.  "  She  is  indeed  going 
fast." 

But  about  mid-day  we  passed  within  a  few  miles  to  the  east  of 
the  Shiant  Islands,  and  here  the  sea  was  somewhat  moderated,  so 
we  tumbled  below  for  a  snack  of  lunch.  The  women  wanted  to 
devote  the  time  to  dressing  their  hair  and  adorning  themselves 
anew ;  but  purser  Sutherland  objected  to  this  altogether.  He 
compelled  them  to  eat  and  drink  while  that  was  possible ;  and 
several  toasts  were  proposed — briefly,  but  with  much  enthusiasm. 
Then  we  scrambled  on  deck  again.  We  found  that  John  had 
hoisted  his  foresail  again,  but  he  had  let  the  mizzen  alone. 

Northward  and  ever  northward — and  we  are  all  alone  on  this 
wide,  wide  sea.  But  that  pale  line  of  coast  at  the  horizon  is  be- 
ginning to  resolve  itself  into  definite  form — into  long,  low  head- 
lands, some  of  which  are  dark  in  shadow,  others  shining  in  the 
sun.  And  then  the  cloud-like  mountains  beyond:  can  these  be 
the  far  Suainabhal  and  Mealasabhal,  and  the  other  giants  that 
look  down  on  Loch  Roag  and  the  western  shores  ?  They  seem 
to  belong  to  a  world  beyond  the  sea. 

Northward  and  ever  northward  ;  and  there  is  less  water  coming 
over  now,  and  less  groaning  and  plunging,  so  that  one  can  hear 
one's  self  speak.  And  what  is  this  wagering  on  the  part  of  the 
doctor  that  we  shall  do  the  sixty  miles  between  Portree  and 
Stornoway  within  the  six  hours?  John  of  Skye  shakes  his  head  ; 
but  he  has  the  main  tack  liauled  down. 

Then,  as  the  day  wears  on,  behold !  a  small  white  object  in  that 
line  of  blue.     The  cry  goes  abroad  :  it  is  Stornoway  light ! 


358  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

"  Come,  now,  John  !"  the  doctor  calls  aloud  ;  "  within  the  six 
hours — for  a  glass  of  whiskey  and  a  lucky  sixpence !" 

"  We  not  at  Styornaway  light  yet,"  answered  the  prudent  John 
of  Skye,  who  is  no  gambler.  But  all  the  same,  he  called  two  of 
the  men  aft  to  set  the  mizzen  again  ;  and  as  for  himself,  he  threw 
oS  his  oil-skins  and  appeared  in  his  proud  uniform  once  more. 
This  looked  like  business. 

Well,  it  was  not  within  the  six  hours,  but  it  was  within  the  six 
hours  and  a  half,  that  we  sailed  past  Stornoway  light-house  and  its 
outstanding  perch ;  and  past  a  floating  target  with  a  red  flag,  for 
artillery  practice;  and  past  a  bark  which  had  been  driven  ashore 
two  days  before,  and  now  stuck  there,  with  her  back  broken.  And 
this  was  a  wonderful  sight — after  the  lone,  wide  seas — to  see  such 
a  mass  of  ships  of  all  sorts  and  sizes  crowded  in  here  for  fear  of 
the  weather.  We  read  their  names  in  the  strange  foreign  type 
as  we  passed — Die  Heimath^  Georg  Washincfton,  Friedrich  der 
Grosse,  and  the  like — and  we  saw  the  yellow-haired  Norsemen 
pulling  between  the  vessels  in  their  odd-looking,  double-bowed 
boats.  And  was  not  John  of  Skye  a  proud  man  that  day  as  he 
stood  by  the  tiller  in  his  splendor  of  blue  and  brass  buttons, 
knowing  that  he  had  brought  the  White  Dove  across  the  Avild 
waters  of  the  Minch,  when  not  one  of  these  foreigners  would  put 
his  nose  outside  the  harbor  ? 

The  evening  light  was  shining  over  the  quiet  town,  and  the 
shadowed  castle,  and  the  fir-tipped  circle  of  hills,  when  the  White 
Dove  rattled  out  her  anchor-chain  and  came  to  rest.  And  as  this 
was  our  last  night  on  board,  there  was  a  good  deal  of  packing  and 
other  trouble.  It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  when  we  came  together 
again. 

The  Laird  was  in  excellent  spirits  that  night,  and  was  more 
than  ordinarily  facetious ;  but  his  hostess  refused  to  be  comfort- 
ed. A  thousand  Ilomeshes  could  not  have  called  up  a  smile; 
for  she  had  grown  to  love  this  scrambling  life  on  board ;  and 
she  had  acquired  a  great  affection  for  the  yacht  itself ;  and  now 
she  looked  round  this  old  and  familiar  saloon,  in  which  we  had 
spent  so  many  snug  and  merry  evenings  together,  and  she  knew 
she  was  looking  at  it  for  the  last  time. 

At  length,  however,  the  Laird  bethought  liimself  of  arousing 
her  from  her  sentimental  sadness,  and  set  to  work  to  joke  her  out 
of  it.     He  told  her  she  was  behaving  like  a  school-girl  come  to 


ADIEU !  359 

tlie  end  of  lier  holiday.  Well,  she  only  further  behaved  like  a 
school-girl  by  letting  her  lips  begin  to  tremble  ;  and  then  she 
stealthily  withdrew  to  her  own  cabin,  and  doubtless  had  a  good 
cry  there.  There  was  no  help  for  it,  however :  the  child  had  to 
give  up  its  plaything  at  last. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

ADIEU  !  ' 

Next  morning,  also :  why  should  this  tender  melancholy  still 
dwell  in  the  soft  and  mournful  eyes  ?  The  sunlight  was  shining 
cheerfully  on  the  sweep  of  wooded  hill,  on  the  gray  castle,  on  the 
scattered  town,  and  on  the  busy  quays.  Busy  was  scarcely  the 
word  :  there  was  a  wild  excitement  abroad,  for  a  vast  take  of 
herring  had  just  been  brought  in.  There,  close  in  by  the  quays, 
were  the  splendidly-built  luggers,  with  their  masts  right  at  their 
bows;  and  standing  up  in  them  their  stalwart  crews,  bronze-faced, 
heavy-bearded,  with  oil-skin  caps,  and  boots  up  to  their  thighs; 
then  on  the  quays  above  the  picturesquely-eostumed  women  busy 
at  the  salting ;  and  agents  eagerly  chaffering  with  the  men ;  and 
empty  barrels  coming  down  in  unknown  quantities.  Bustle,  life, 
excitement  pervaded  the  whole  town;  but  our  tender-hearted 
hostess,  as  we  got  ashore,  seemed  to  pay  no  heed  to  it.  As  she 
bade  good-bye  to  the  men,  shaking  hands  with  each,  there  were 
tears  in  her  eyes ;  if  she  had  wished  to  cast  a  last  glance  in  the 
direction  of  the  White  Dove,  she  could  scarcely  have  seen  the 
now  still  and  motionless  craft. 

But  by-and-by,  when  we  had  left  our  heavier  luggage  at  the 
inn,  and  when  we  set  out  to  drive  across  the  island  to  visit  some 
friends  of  ours  who  live  on  the  western  side,  she  grew  somewhat 
more  cheerful.  Here  and  there  a  whiff  of  the  fragrant  peat- 
smoke  caught  us  as  we  passed,  bringing  back  recollections  of 
other  days.  Then  she  had  one  or  two  strangers  to  inform  and 
instruct ;  and  she  was  glad  that  Mary  Avon  had  a  bright  day  for 
her  drive  across  the  Lewis. 

"But  what  a  desolate  place  it  must  be  on  a  wet  day,"  that 
young  person  remarked,  as  she  looked  away  across  the  undulating 
moors,  vast,  and  lonely,  and  silent. 


360  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

Now,  at  all  events,  the  drive  was  pleasant  enougli ;  for  the  sun- 
light brought  out  the  soft  ruddy  browns  of  the  bog-land,  and  ever 
and  again  the  blue-and-white  surface  of  a  small  loch  flashed  back 
the  daylight  from  amidst  that  desolation.  Then  occasionally  the 
road  crossed  a  brawling  stream,  and  the  sound  of  it  was  grate- 
ful enough  in  the  oppressive  silence.  In  due  course  of  time  we 
reached  Garra-na-hina. 

Our  stay  at  the  comfortable  little  hostelry  was  but  brief,  for 
the  boat  to  be  sent  by  our  friends  had  not  arrived,  and  it  was 
proposed  that  in  the  mean  time  we  should  walk  along  the  coast 
to  show  our  companions  the  famous  stones  of  Callernish.  By 
this  time  Queen  Titania  had  quite  recovered  her  spirits,  and  ea- 
gerly assented,  saying  how  pleasant  a  Avalk  would  be  after  our 
long  confinement  on  shipboard. 

It  was  indeed  a  pleasant  walk,  through  a  bright  and  cheerful 
piece  of  country.  And  as  we  went  along  we  sometimes  turned  to 
look  around  us — at  the  waters  of  the  Black  River,  a  winding  line 
of  silver  through  the  yellow  and  brown  of  the  morass ;  and  at  the 
placid  blue  waters  of  Loch  Roag,  with  the  orange  line  of  sea-weed 
round  the  rocks ;  and  at  the  far  blue  bulk  of  Suainabhal.  We 
did  not  walk  very  fast;  and,  indeed,  we  had  not  got  anywhere 
near  the  Callernish  stones,  when  the  sharp  eye  of  our  young 
doctor  caught  sight  of  two  new  objects  that  had  come  into  this 
shining  picture.  The  first  was  a  large  brown  boat,  rowed  by  four 
fishermen;  the  second  was  a  long  and  shapely  boat  —  like  the 
pinnace  of  a  yacht — also  pulled  by  four  men,  in  blue  jerseys  and 
scarlet  caps.  There  was  no  one  in  the  stern  of  the  big  boat ;  but 
in  the  stern  of  the  gig  were  three  figures,  as  far  as  we  could  make 
out. 

Now,  no  sooner  had  our  attention  been  called  to  the  two  boats 
which  had  just  come  round  the  point  of  an  island  out  there,  than 
our  good  Queen  Titania  became  greatly  excited,  and  would  have 
us  all  go  out  to  the  top  of  a  small  headland  and  frantically  wave 
our  handkerchiefs  there.  Then  we  perceived  that  the  second  boat 
instantly  changed  its  course,  and  was  being  steered  for  the  point 
on  which  we  stood.  We  descended  to  the  shore  and  went  out  on 
to  some  rocks.  Queen  Titania  becoming  quite  liystcrical. 

"Oh,  how  kind  of  her!  how  kind  of  her!"  she  cried. 

For  it  now  appeared  that  these  three  figures  in  the  stern  of  the 
white  pinnace  were  the  figures  of  a  young  lady,  who  was  ob- 


adieu!  3G1 

viously  steering,  and  of  two  small  boys,  one  on  each  side  of  ber, 
and  botb  dressed  as  young  sailors.  And  tbe  steerswoman — sbe 
bad  sometbing  of  a  sailor -look  about  ber,  too ;  for  sbo  was 
dressed  in  navy-blue  ;  and  sbe  wore  a  straw  hat  with  a  blue  rib- 
bon and  letters  of  gold.  But  you  would  scarcely  have  looked  at 
the  smart  straw  bat  when  you  saw  tbe  bright  and  laughing  face, 
and  the  beautiful  eyes  that  seemed  to  speak  to  you  long  before 
sbe  could  get  to  shore.  And  then  tbe  boat  was  run  into  a  small 
creek;  and  tbe  young  lady  stepped  lightly  out — she  certainly 
was  young-looking,  by -tbe -way,  to  be  the  mother  of  those  two 
small  sailors  —  and  she  quickly  and  eagerly  and  gladly  caught 
Queen  Titania  with  both  her  bands. 

"  Ob,  indeed  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  she — and  her  speech 
was  exceedingly  pleasant  to  hear — "but  I  did  not  think  you 
could  be  so  soon  over  from  Styornaway." 

[Note  by  Qiieen  Titania. — It  appears  that,  now  all  our  voyaging  is  over,  and 
%ve  are  about  to  retire  into  privacy  again,  I  am  expected,  as  on  a  previous  oc- 
casion, to  come  forward  and  address  to  you  a  kind  of  epilogue,  just  as  they 
do  on  the  stage.  This  seems  to  me  a  sort  of  strange  performance  at  the  end 
of  a  yachting  cruise ;  for  what  if  a  handful  of  salt-water  were  to  come  over 
the  bows,  and  put  out  my  trumpery  foot-lights  ?  However,  what  must  be  must, 
as  married  women  know  ;  and  so  I  would  first  of  all  say  a  word  to  the  many 
kind  people  who  were  so  very  good  to  us  in  these  distant  places  in  the  North. 
You  may  think  it  strange  to  associate  such  things  as  fresh  vegetables,  or  a 
basket  of  flowers,  or  a  chicken,  or  a  bottle  of  milk,  or  even  a  bunch  of  white 
heather,  with  sentiment ;  but  people  who  have  been  sailing  in  the  West  High- 
lands do  not  think  so — indeed,  they  know  which  is  the  most  obliging  and 
friendly  and  hospitable  place  in  the  whole  world.  And  then  a  word  to  the 
reader.  If  I  might  hope  that  it  is  the  same  reader  who  has  been  with  us  in 
other  climes  in  other  years — who  may  have  driven  with  us  along  the  devious 
English  lanes ;  and  crossed  the  Atlantic,  and  seen  the  big  canons  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains ;  and  lived  with  us  among  those  dear  old  people  in  the  Black  For- 
est ;  and  walked  with  us  on  Mickleham  Downs  in  the  starlight,  w^hy,  then,  he 
may  forgive  us  for  taking  him  on  such  a  tremendous  long  holiday  in  these 
Scotch  lochs.  But  we  hope  that  if  ever  he  goes  into  these  wilds  for  himself, 
he  will  get  as  good  a  skipper  as  John  of  Skye,  and  have  as  pleasant  and  true 
a  friend  on  board  as  the  Laird  of  Denny-mains.  Perhaps,  I  may  add,  just  to 
explain  everything,  that  we  are  all  invited  to  Denny-mains  to  spend  Christr 
mas ;  and  something  is  going  to  happen  there ;  and  the  Laird  says  that,  so 
far  from  objecting  to  a  ceremony  in  the  Episcopal  church,  he  will  himself  be 

17* 


362  WHITE    WINGS  :     A    YACHTING    ROMANCE. 

present  and  give  away  the  bride.  It  is  even  hinted  that  Mr.  Tom  Galbraith 
may  come  from  Edinburgh,  as  a  great  compliment ;  and  then  no  doubt  we 
shall  all  be  introduced  to  him.  And  so — Good-bye ! — Good-bye ! — and  an- 
other message — from  the  heart — to  all  the  kind  people  who  befriended  us  in 
those  places  far  away! — T.] 


THE   END. 


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LIVINGSTONE'S  LAST  JOURNALS.  The  Last  Journals  of  David  Living- 
stone iu  Central  Africa,  from  18G5  to  his  Death.  Continued  by  a  Nar- 
rative of  his  Last  Moments  and  Sufferings,  obtained  from  his  Faithful 
Servants  Chuma  and  Susi.  By  Horace  Waller,  F.R.G.S.,  Rector  of 
Twywell,  Northampton.  With  Portrait,  Maps,  and  Illustrations.  Svo, 
Cloth,  $5  00 ;  Sheep,  $5  50 ;  Half  Calf,  $7  25.  Cheap  Popular  Edition, 
8vo,  Cloth,  with  Map  and  Illustrations,  $2  50. 

GROTE'S  HISTORY  OF  GREECE.  12  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $18  00;  Sheep, 
$22  80 ;  Half  Calf,  $39  00. 

RECLUS'S  EARTH.  The  Earth :  a  Descriptive  History  of  the  Phenomena 
of  the  Life  of  the  Globe.  By  Elisee  Reclus.  With  234  Maps  and  H- 
lustrations,  and  23  Page  Maps  printed  in  Colors.     8vo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

RECLUS'S  OCEAN.     The  Ocean,  Atmosphere,  and  Life.     Being  the  Second 
Scries  of  a  Descriptive  History  of  the  Life  of  the  Globe.     By  Elisee  - 
Reclus.     Profusely  Illustrated  with  250  Maps  or  Figures,  and  27  Maps 
printed  in  Colors.     Svo,  Cloth,  $6  00. 

NORDHOFF'S  COMMUNISTIC  SOCIETIES  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES. 
The  Communistic  Societies  of  the  United  States,  from  Personal  Visit 
and  Observation ;  including  Detailed  Accounts  of  the  Economists,  Zoar- 
itcs,  Shakers,  the  Amana,  Oneida,  Bethel,  Aurora,  Icarian,  and  other  ex- 
isting Societies.  With  Particulars  of  their  Religious  Creeds  and  Prac- 
tices, their  Social  Theories  and  Life,  Numbers,  Industries,  and  Present 
Condition.     By  Charles  NoRDnorr.     Illustrations.     Svo,  Cloth,  $4  00. 

NORDHOFF'S  CALIFORNIA.  California :  for  Health,  Pleasure,  and  Resi- 
dence. A  Book  for  Travellers  and  Settlers.  Illustrated.  Svo,  Cloth, 
$2  50. 

NORDHOFF'S  NORTHERN  CALIFORNIA  AND  THE  SANDWICH 
ISLANDS.  Northern  California,  Oregon,  and  the  Sandwich  Islands. 
By  Charles  Nordhoff.     Illustrated.     8vo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 


6  Valuable  Works  for  Public  and  Private  Librai-ics. 

SHAKSPEARE.  The  Dramatic  Works  of  William  Shakspeare.  With  Cor- 
rections and  Notes.  Engravings.  6  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $9  00.  2  vols., 
8vo,  Cloth,  $4  00  ;  Sheep,  $5  00.     In  one  vol.,  8vo,  Sheep,  $4  00. 

BAKER'S  ISMAILIA.  Ismailia :  a  Narrative  of  the  Expedition  to  Central 
Africa  for  the  Suppression  of  the  Slave-trade,  organized  by  Ismail,  Khe- 
dive of  Egypt.  By  Sir  Samuel  White  Baker,  Pasha,  F.R.S.,  F.R.G.S. 
With  Maps,  Portraits,  and  Illustrations.  8vo,  Cloth,  $5  00 ;  Half  Calf, 
$7  25. 

GRIFFIS'S  JAPAN.  The  Mikado's  Empire :  Book  I.  History  of  Japan,  from 
660  B.C.  to  1872  A.D.  Book  II.  Personal  Experiences,  Observations, 
and  Studies  in  Japan,  1870-1874.  By  William  Elliot  Griffis,  A.M., 
late  of  the  Imperial  University  of  TokiO,  Japan.  Copiously  Illustrated. 
8vo,  Cloth,  $4  00;  Half  Calf,  $6  25. 

SMILES'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  HUGUENOTS.  The  Huguenots :  their  Set- 
tlements, Churches,  and  Industries  in  England  and  Ireland.  By  Samcel 
Smiles.  With  an  Appendix  relating  to  the  Huguenots  in  America. 
Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  .f  2  00. 

SMILES'S  HUGUENOTS  AFTER  THE  REVOCATION.  The  Huguenots 
in  France  after  the  Revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes ;  with  a  Visit 
to  the  Country  of  the  Vaudois.     By  Samuel  Smiles.     Crown  8vo,  Cloth, 

$2  00. 

SMILES'S  LIFE  OF  THE  STEPHENSONS.  The  Life  of  George  Stephen- 
son, and  of  his  Son,  Robert  Stephenson ;  Comprising,  also,  a  History  of 
the  Invention  and  Introduction  of  the  Railway  Locomotive.  By  Samuel 
Smiles.     With  Steel  Portraits  and  numerous  Illustrations.     Svo,  Cloth, 

$3  00. 

RAWLINSON'S  MANUAL  OF  ANCIENT  HISTORY.  A  Manual  of  An- 
cient History,  from  the  Earliest  Times  to  the  Fall  of  the  Western  Em- 
pire. Comprising  the  History  of  Chaldffia,  Assyria,  Media,  Babylonia, 
Lydia,  Phoenicia,  Syria,  Jud;ea,  Egypt,  Carthage,  Persia,  Greece,  Macedo- 
nia, Parthia,  and  Rome.  By  George  Rawlinson,  M.A.,  Camden  Profess- 
or of  Ancient  History  in  the  University  of  Oxford.     12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 

ALISON'S  HISTORY  OF  EUROPE.  Fir.st  Series:  From  the  Commence- 
ment of  the  French  Revolution,  in  178!),  to  the  Rcstorntion  of  the  Bour- 
bons in  1815.  [In  addition  to  the  Notes  on  Chapter  LXXVI.,  which  cor- 
rect the  errors  of  the  original  work  concerning  the  United  States,  a  co- 
pious Analytical  Index  has  been  appended  to  this  American  Edition.] 
Second  Series  :  From  the  Fall  of  Napoleon,  in  1815,  to  the  Accession  of 
Louis  Napoleon,  in  1852.  8  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $10  00;  Sheep,  $20  00; 
Half  Calf,  $34  00. 


Valuable  Works  for  Public  and  Private  Libraries.  7 

BOSWELL'S  JOHNSON.  The  Life  of  Samuel  Johnson,  LL.D.,  including  a 
Journal  of  a  Tour  to  the  Hebrides.  By  James  Boswell,  Esq.  Edited 
by  John  Wilson  Croker,  LL.D.,  F.R.S.  With  a  Portrait  of  Boswell. 
2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  |4  00 ;  Sheep,  $5  00 ;  Half  Calf,  $8  50. 

SAMUEL  JOHNSON:  HIS  WORDS  AND  HIS  WAYS;  what  he  Said, 
what  he  Did,  and  what  Men  Thought  and  Spoke  Concerning  him.  Edit- 
ed by  E.  T.  Mason.     12mo,  Cloth,  %l  50. 

JOHNSON'S  COMPLETE  WORKS.  The  Works  of  Samuel  Johnson,  LL.D. 
With  an  Essay  on  his  Life  and  Genius,  by  Arthur  Murphy,  Esq.  2  vols., 
Svo,  Cloth,  $4  00 ;  Sheep,  $5  00 ;  Half  Calf,  $8  50. 

THE  VOYAGE  OF  THE  "  CHALLENGER."  The  Atlantic :  an  Account 
of  the  General  Results  of  the  Voyage  during  1873,  and  the  Early  Part  of 
18*76.  By  Sir  Wyyille  Thomson,  K.C.B.,  F.R.S.  With  numerous  Il- 
lustrations, Colored  Maps,  and  Charts,  from  Drawings  by  J.  J.  Wyld,  en- 
graved by  J.  D.  Cooper,  and  Portrait  of  the  Author,  engraved  by  C.  H. 
Jeens.     2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $12  00. 

WALLACE'S    GEOGRAPHICAL   DISTRIBUTION    OF   ANIMALS.      The 

Geographical  Distribution  of  Animals.  With  a  study  of  the  Relations 
of  Living  and  Extinct  Faunas,  as  Elucidating  the  Past  Changes  of  the 
Earth's  Surface.  By  Alfred  Russel  Wallace.  With  Maps  and  Illus- 
trations.    In  2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $10  00. 

WALLACE'S  MALAY  ARCHIPELAGO.  The  Malay  Archipelago:  The 
Laud  of  the  Orang-Utan  and  the  Bird  of  Paradise.  A  Narrative  of 
Travel,  1854-1862.  With  Studies  of  Man  and  Nature.  By  A.  R.Wal- 
lace.    Maps  and  Illustrations.     Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

BOURNE'S  LIFE  OF  LOCKE.  The  Life  of  John  Locke.  By  H.  R.  Fox 
Bourne.     2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Tops,  $5  00. 

BLUNT'S  BEDOUIN  TRIBES  OF  THE  EUPHRATES.  Bedouin  Tribes 
of  tlie  Euphrates.  By  Lady  Anne  Blunt.  Edited,  with  a  Preface  and 
some  Account  of  the  Arabs  and  their  Horses,  by  W.  S.  B.  Map  and 
Sketches  by  the  Author.     Svo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

BROUGHAM'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  Life  and  Times  of  Henry,  Lord 
Brougham.     Written  by  Himself.     3  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $6  00. 

THOMPSON'S  PAPACY  AND  THE  CIVIL  POWER.  The  Papacy  and  the 
Civil  Power.  By  the  Hon.  R.  W.  Thompson,  Secretary  of  the  U.  S.  Navy. 
Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $3  00. 

ADDISON'S  COMPLETE  WORKS.  The  Works  of  Joseph  Addison,  em- 
bracing the  whole  of  the  Spectator,  3  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $6  00;  Sheep, 
$7  50;  Half  Calf,  $12  75. 


8  Valuable  Works  for  Public  and  Private  Libraries. 

THE  POETS  AND  POETRY  OF  SCOTLAND :   From  the  Earliest  to  the 
Present  Time.     Comprising  Cliaracteristic  Selections  from  the  Works 
of  the  more  Noteworthy  Scottish  Poets,  with  Biographical  and  Critical 
Notices.     By  James  Grant  Wilson.     With  Portraits  on  Steel.     2  vols., 
8vo,  Cloth,  f  10  00;  Sheep,  $12  00;  Half  Calf,  $14  50;  Full  Morocco, 
$18  00. 
THE  STUDENT'S  SERIES.     With  Maps  and  Illustrations.     12mo,  Cloth. 
France. — Giubon. — Greece. — Rome  (by  Liddell). — Old  Testament  His- 
tory.— New  Testament  History. — Strickland's  Queens  ok  England 
(Abridged). — Ancient  History  of  the  East. — Hallam's  Middle  Ages. 
— Hallam's  Constitutional  History  of  England. — Lyell's  Elements 
OF  Geology. — Merivale's  General  History  of  Rome.  —  Cox's  Gen- 
eral History  of  Greece. — Classical  Dictionary.     Price  $1  25  per 
volume. 

Lewis's  History  of  Germany. — Ecclesiastical  History. — Hume's 
England.     Price  $1  50  per  volume. 

CAMERON'S  ACROSS  AFRICA.  Across  Africa.  By  Verney  Lovett  Cam- 
eron, C.B.,  D.C.L.,  Commander  Royal  Navy,  Gold  Medalist  Royal  Geo- 
graphical Society,  etc.  With  a  Map  and  numerous  Illustrations.  Svo, 
Cloth,  $5  00. 

EARTH'S  NORTH  AND  CENTRAL  AFRICA.  Travels  and  Discoveries 
in  North  and  Central  Africa :  being  a  Journal  of  an  Expedition  under- 
taken under  the  Auspices  of  H.B.M.'s  Government,  in  the  Years  1849- 
1855.  By  Henry  Bartii,  Ph.D.,  D.C.L.  Illustrated.  3  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth, 
$12  00;  Sheep,  $13  50;  Half  Calf,  $18  15. 

THE  REVISION   OF  THE  ENGLISH  VERSION  OF  THE  NEW  TESTA- 
MENT.    With  an  Introduction  by  the  Rev.  P.  Sciiaff,  D.D.  618  pp.. 
Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $3  00. 
This  work  embraces  in  one  volume : 

L  ON  A  FRESH  REVISION  OF  THE  ENGLISH  NEW  TESTA- 
MENT. By  J.  B.  Lightfoot,  D.D.,  Canon  of  St.  Paul's,  and  Hul- 
sean  Professor  of  Divinity,  Cambridge.  Second  Edition,  Revised. 
190  pp. 
II.  ON  THE  AUTHORIZED  VERSION  OF  THE  NEW  TESTA- 
MENT in  Connection  with  some  Recent  Proposals  for  its  Revision. 
By  R.  C.  Trench,  D.D.,  Archbishop  of  Dublin.  194  pp. 
in.  COXSIDEKATIOXS  ON  THE  REVISION  OF  THE  ENGLISH 
VERSION  OF  THE  NEW  TESTAMENT.  By  C.  J.  Ellicott,  D.D., 
Bishop  of  Gloucester  and  Bristol.     178  pp. 

NICHOLS'S  ART  EDUCATION.  Art  Education  applied  to  Industry.  By 
George  Ward  Nichols.   Illustrated.    Svo,  Cloth,  $  1  00  ;  Half  Calf,  $0  25. 


Valuable  WorTcs  for  Public  and  Private  Libraries.  9 

BULWER'S  HORACE.  The  Odes  and  Epodes  of  Horace.  A  Metrical 
Translation  into  English.  Witli  Introduetion  and  Commentaries.  By 
Lord  Lytton.  With  Latin  Text  from  the  Editions  of  Orelli,  Maclcane, 
and  Yonge.     12mo,  Cloth,  $1  75. 

BULWER'S  KLNG  ARTHUR.  King  Arthur.  A  Poem.  By  Loud  Lytton. 
12mo,  Cloth,  $1  75. 

BULWER'S  MISCELLANEOUS  PROSE  WX)RKS.  The  Miscellaneous  Prose 
Works  of  Edward  Buhver,  Lord  Lytton.  2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $3  50. 
Also,  in  uniform  style,  Caxtoniana.     12mo,  Cloth,  $1  75. 

DAVIS'S  CARTHAGE.  Carthage  and  her  Remains :  being  an  Account  of 
the  Excavations  and  Researches  on  the  Site  of  the  Phojnician  Metropo- 
lis in  Africa  and  other  Adjacent  Places.  Conducted  under  the  Auspices 
of  Her  Majesty's  Government.  By  Dr.  N.  Davis,  F.R.G.S.  Profusely  Il- 
lustrated with  Maps,  Wood-cuts,  Chromo-Lithographs,  etc.  8vo,  Cloth, 
$4  00 ;  Half  Calf,  $6  25. 

CRUISE  OF  THE  "  CHALLENGER."  Voyages  over  many  Seas,  Scenes 
in  many  Lands.  By  W.  J.  J.  Spry,  R.N.  With  Map  and  Illustrations. 
Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

EATON'S  CIVIL  SERVICE  IN  GREAT  BRITAIN.  Civil  Service  in  Great 
Britain.  A  History  of  Abuses  and  Reforms,  and  their  Bearing  upon 
American  Politics.     By  Dorman  B.  Eaton.     8vo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

CARLYLE'S  FREDERICK  THE  GREAT.  History  of  Friedrich  IL,  called 
Frederick  the  Great.  By  Thomas  Carlyle.  Portraits,  Maps,  Plans,  etc. 
6  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $12  00;  Sheep,  $14  40;  Half  Calf,  $22  50. 

CARLYLE'S  FRENCH  REVOLUTION.  The  French  Revolution:  a  His- 
tory. By  Thomas  Carlyle.  2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $3  50  ;  Sheep,  $4  30  ; 
Half  Calf,  $7  00. 

CARLYLE'S  OLIVER  CROMWELL.  Oliver  Cromwell's  Letters  and 
Speeches,  including  the  Supplement  to  the  First  Edition.  With  Eluci- 
dations. By  Thomas  Carlyle.  2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $3  50;  Sheep, 
$4  30 ;  Half  Calf,  $7  00. 

DRAPER'S  CIVIL  WAR.  History  of  the  American  Civil  War.  By  John 
W.  Draper,  M.D.,  LL.D.  3  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  Beveled  Edges,  $10  50; 
Sheep,  $12  00;  Half  Calf,  $17  25. 

DRAPER'S  INTELLECTUAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  EUROPE.  A  History 
of  the  Intellectual  Development  of  Europe.  By  John  W.  Draper,  M.D., 
LL.D.  New  Edition,  Revised.  2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $3  00;  Half  Calf, 
$6  50. 

DRAPER'S  AMERICAN  CIVIL  POLICY.  Tiioiights  on  the  Future  Civil 
Policy  of  America.  By  John  W.  Draper,  M.D.,  LL.D.  Crown  Svo,  Cloth, 
$2  00 ;  Half  Morocco,  $3  75. 


10  Valuable  Worhs  for  Public  and  Private  Libraries. 

PERRY'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  A  History  of 
the  English  Church,  from  the  Accession  of  Henry  VIII.  to  the  Silencing 
of  Convocation.  By  G.  G.  Perry,  M.A.  With  an  Appendix  containing 
a  Sketch  of  the  History  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  in  the  Unit- 
ed States  of  America,  by  J.  A.  Spencer,  S.T.D.    Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

MCCARTHY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  A  History  of  Our  Own  Times, 
from  the  Accession  of  Qu«en  Victoria  to  the  Berlin  Congress.  By 
Justin  McCarthy.    Vol.  I. ;  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25.    (  Vol.  II.  Nearly  Ready.) 

THE  FIRST  CENTURY  OF  THE  REPUBLIC.  A  Review  of  American 
Progress.     8vo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

ABBOTT'S  DICTIONARY  OF  RELIGIOUS  KNOWLEDGE.  A  Diction- 
ary of  Religious  Knowledge,  for  Popular  and  Professional  Use;  com- 
prising full  Information  on  Biblical,  Theological,  and  Ecclesiastical  Sub- 
jects. With  nearly  One  Thousand  Maps  and  Illustrations.  Edited  by 
the  Rev.  Lyman  Abbott,  with  the  Co-operation  of  the  Rev.  T.  J.  Conant, 
D.D.  Royal  8vo,  containing  over  1000  pages,  Cloth,  $6  00;  Sheep, 
$7  00  ;  Half  Morocco,  $8  50.     {Sold  by  Subscription  only.) 

ABBOTT'S  FREDERICK  THE  GREAT.  The  History  of  Frederick  the  Sec- 
ond, called  Frederick  the  Great.  By  John  S.  C.  Abbott.  Illustrated. 
8vo,  Cloth,  $5  00 ;  Half  Calf,  %1  25. 

ABBOTT'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION.  The  French 
Revolution  of  1789,  as  viewed  in  the  Light  of  Republican  Institutions. 
By  John  S.  C.  Abbott.  Illustrated.  8vo,  Cloth,  $5  00;  Sheep,  f  5  50; 
Half  Calf,  $7  25. 

ABBOTT'S  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  The  History  of  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte. By  John  S.  C.  Abbott.  With  Maps,  Illustrations,  and  Portraits 
on  Steel.    2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  $10  00 ;  Sheep,  $1 1  00 ;  Half  Calf,  $14  50. 

ABBOTT'S  NAPOLEON  AT  ST.  HELENA.  Napoleon  at  St.  Helena ;  or. 
Interesting  Anecdotes  and  Remarkable  Conversations  of  the  Emperor 
during  the  Five  and  a  Half  Years  of  his  Captivity.  Collected  from 
the  Memorials  of  Las  Casas,  O'Meara,  Montholon,  Antommarehi,  and 
others.  By  John  S.  C.  Abbott.  Illustrated.  8vo,  Cloth,  $5  00 ;  Sheep, 
$5  50;  Half  Calf,  $7  25. 

STRICKLAND'S  (Miss)  QUEENS  OF  SCOTLAND.  Lives  of  the  Queens  of 
Scotland  and  English  Princesses  connected  with  the  Regal  Succession  of 
Great  Britain.  By  Acnes  Strickland.  8  vols.,  Timo,  Cloth,  $12  00; 
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DESHLER  ON  THE  SONNET.  Afternoons  with  the  Poets.  By  C.  D. 
Deshlek.     ICmo,  Cloth,  $1  75. 


Valuable  Worli»  for  Piiblic  and  Pt-wate  Libraries.  11 

STANLEY'S  THROUGH  THE  DARK  CONTINENT.  Through  the  Dark 
Continent ;  or,  The  Sources  of  the  Nile,  Around  the  Great  Lakes  of  Equa- 
torial Africa,  and  Down  the  Livingstone  River  to  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 
With  149  Illustrations  and  10  Maps.  By  Henry  M.  Stanley.  2  vols., 
8vo,  Cloth,  $10  00; -Sheep,  $12  00;  Half  Morocco,  $15  00.  {Sold  by 
Subscription  only.) 

DARWIN'S  VOYAGE  OF  A  NATURALIST.  Voyage  of  a  Naturalist. 
Journal  of  Researches  into  the  Natural  History  and  Geology  of  the  Coun- 
tries visited  during  the  Voyage  of  H.M.S.  Bmcjlc  round  the  World.  By 
Charles  Darwin.     2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

ENGLISH  MEN  OF  LETTERS.  Edited  by  Joun  Morley.  The  following 
volumes  are  now  ready.     Others  will  follow. 

Samuel  Johnson.  By  Leslie  Stephen. — Edward  Gibbon.  By  James 
Cotter  Morison. — Sir  Walter  Scott.  By  Richard  H.  Hutton. — Percy 
Bysshe  Shelley.  By  John  A.  Symonds. — Oliver  Goldsmith.  By  Wil- 
liam Black.  —  David  Hume.  By  Professor  Huxley.  —  Daniel  Dekoe. 
By  William  Minto. — Robert  Burns.  By  Principal  Shairp. — Spenser.  By 
R.  W.  Church. — Thackeray.  By  Anthony  Trollope. — Burke.  By  John 
Morley. — Milton.  By  Mark  Pattison. — Southey.  By  Edward  Dowden. 
— Chaucer.  By  A.  W.  Ward. — Bunyan.  By  J.  A.  Froude. — Cowper. 
By  Goldwin  Smith. — Pope.  By  Leslie  Stephen.  12mo,  Cloth,  75  cents 
per  volume. 

Hawthorne.     By  Henry  James,  Jr.     12mo,  Cloth,  $1  00. 

PARTON'S  CARICATURE.  Caricature  and  Other  Comic  Art,  in  All  Times 
and  Many  Lands.  By  James  Parton.  With  203  Illustrations.  8vo, 
Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Tops,  $5  00 ;  Half  Calf,  $7  25. 

CESNOLA'S  CYPRUS.  Cyprus :  its  Ancient  Cities,  Tombs,  and  Temples. 
A  Narrative  of  Researches  and  Excavations  during  Ten  Years'  Residence 
in  that  Island.  By  General  Louis  Palma  di  Cesnola.  With  Portrait, 
Maps,  and  400  Illustrations.  8vo,  Cloth,  Extra,  Gilt  Tops  and  Uncut 
Edges,  $7  50. 

TENNYSON'S  COMPLETE  POEMS.  Tl:e  Poetical  Works  of  Alfred  Ten- 
nyson, Poet-Laureate.  With  numerous  Illustrations  by  Eminent  Artists, 
and  Three  Characteristic  Portraits.     Svo,  Paper,  $1  00;  Cloth,  $1  50. 

DU  CHAILLU'S  EQUATORIAL  AFRICA.  Explorations  and  Adventures 
in  Equatorial  Africa :  with  Accounts  of  the  Manners  and  Customs  of 
the  People,  and  of  the  Chase  of  the  Gorilla,  the  Crocodile,  Leopard, 
Elephant,  Hippopotamus,  and  other  animals.  By  Paul  B.  Du  Chaillu. 
Illustrated.     Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00 ;  Sheep,  $5  50 ;  Half  Calf,  $7  25  . 

DU  CHAILLU'S  ASHANGO-LAND.  A  Journey  to  Ashango  -  Land,  and 
Further  Penetration  into  Equatorial  Africa.  By  Paul  B.  Du  Chaillu. 
Illustrated.     Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00  ;  Sheep,  $5  50 ;  Half  Calf,  $7  25. 


13  Valuable  Worls  far  PuUic  and  Private  Libraries. 

BAYNE'S  LESSONS  FROM  MY  MASTERS.  Lessons  from  My  Masters : 
Carlyle,  Tennyson,  and  Raskin.  By  Peter  Bayne,  M.A.,  LL.D.  12mo, 
Cloth,  f  1  75. 

HALLAM'S  LITERATURE.  Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europe  dur- 
ing the  Fifteenth,  Sixteenth,  and  Seventeenth  Centuries.  By  Henry 
Hallam.     2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  f  4  00 ;  Sheep,  $5  00. 

HALLAM'S  MIDDLE  AGES.  View  of  the  State  of  Europe  during  the 
Middle  Ages.     By  Henry  Hallam.     8vo,  Cloth,  $2  00;  Sheep,  $2  50. 

HALLAM'S  CONSTITUTIONAL  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  The  Consti- 
tutional History  of  England,  from  the  Accession  of  Henry  VII.  to  the 
Death  of  George  IL    By  Henry  Hallam.    8vo,  Cloth,  ^2  00 ;  Sheep,  $2  50. 

VAN-LENNEP'S  BIBLE  LANDS.  Bible  Lands :  their  Modern  Customs  and 
Manners  Illustrative  of  Scripture.  By  the  Rev.  Henry  J.  Van-Lennep, 
D.D.  With  upward  of  350  Wood  Engravings  and  two  Colored  Maps. 
838  pp.,  8vo,  Cloth,  f  5  00 ;  Sheep,  fC  00  ;  Half  Morocco  or  Half  Calf,  $8  00. 

FLAMMARION'S  ATMOSPHERE.  The  Atmosphere.  Translated  from 
the  French  of  Camille  Flammarion.  Edited  by  James  Glaisher,  F.R.S., 
Superintendent  of  the  Magnctical  and  Meteorological  Department  of 
the  Royal  Observatory  at  Greenwich.  With  10  Chrome-Lithographs  and 
86  Wood-cuts.     8vo,  Cloth,  $6  00;  Half  Calf,  $8  25. 

ANNUAL  RECORD  OF  SCIENCE  AND  INDUSTRY.  The  Annual  Rec- 
ord of  Science  and  Industry.  Edited  by  Professor  Spencer  F.  Baird, 
of  the  Smithsonian  Institution,  with  the  Assistance  of  Eminent  Men  of 
Science.  The  'Yearly  Volumes  for  1871,  1872,  1873,  1874, 1875,  1876, 
1877,  1878  are  ready.  12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00  per  vol. ;  $15  00  per  set  of 
8  vols. 

NEWCOMB'S  ASTRONOMY.  Popular  Astronomy.  By  Simon  Newcomb, 
LL.D.,  Professor  U.  S.  Naval  Observatory.  With  One  Hundred  and 
Twelve  Engravings,  and  Five  Maps  of  the  Stars.  8vo,  Cloth,  $4  00: 
School  Edition,  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  30. 

BARTLETT'S  FROM  EGYPT  TO  PALESTINE.  From  Egypt  to  Pales- 
tine :  Through  Sinai,  the  Wilderness,  and  the  South  Country.  Obser- 
vations of  a  Journey  made  with  Special  Reference  to  the  History  of  the 
Israelites.  By  S.  C.  Bartlett,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  President  of  Dartmouth  Col- 
lege, and  lately  Professor  in  the  Chicago  Theological  Seminary.  With 
Maps  and  Illustrations.     8vo,  Cloth,  .f  3  50. 

'  PRIME'S  POTTERY  AND  PORCELAIN.  Pottery  and  Porcelain  of  All 
Times  and  Nations.  With  Tables  of  Factory  and  Artists'  Marks,  for 
the  Use  of  Collectors.  By  William  C.  Prime,  LL.D.  Illustrated.  8vo, 
Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and  (iilt  Tojis,  $7  00  ;  Half  Calf,  $11  25.    (In  a  Box.) 


^ 


4 


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